If I Fell In Love With You
by meggieleigh
Summary: When Peggy O'Higgins moves to Allerton, she's skeptical about making friends, until a family moves into the house next door at 20 Forthlin Road and she befriends their eldest son, Paul, and who might catch her eye but Paul's friend, George.
1. Prologue

_This is a Beatles story, and it takes place during the early years before the Beatles were founded. I'm still not whether or not I should let this story go on into the Beatles' fame, but that's still being debated! I also intended this story to be a George/OC pairing, but I might hold a vote to see whether readers want it to be Paul/OC or not. I've also tried to make most of the locations as real as possible, and I've researched these cities and the actual houses that are named. If there is any error in this story, be it historically or grammamatically or anything like that, let me know and I'll fix it as best as I can!_

_I don't own the Beatles, just the O'Higgins and any other characters that are fictional._

_And now I hope you enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

19 Forthlin Road, Allerton, Liverpool, Merseyside, UK. That's where I moved to in the year 1953 with my parents and my elder brother, Thomas, and sister, Carolyn. I was still only nine years old and extremely unhappy that my family was moving from out cozy house in Speke to a brand new house in Allerton. I had a hard time making friends at school, and I wasn't entirely thrilled to have to make new friends all over again.

"Mummy," I whined as soon as the movers arrived in the front yard, "what if I don't make friends?" I was tugging at her dress skirts with on hand while clutching my floppy blue teddy bear, fittingly named Flopsy, with the other.

My mother was a kind woman with a big smile and sparkling blue eyes. She was getting plump and enjoyed baking pastries and other sweets for us in her free time. Whenever I felt scared or troubled, much like that moment, she would warmly show off her smile and hug us to her tight.

She did exactly that and kneeling down to my eye level, she told me with her thick Liverpuddlian accent, "Don't you fret a bit, Peggy darling, you'll soon feel that moving here was a fabulous idea, and you'll be making friends in no time. Remember, just be yourself and you'll know who are your real friends or not. Come along, let's have a look at our new home."

My siblings and I helped out parents move our boxes of clothes and toys and other belongings into the house, each fighting over which room would be ours. I got one of the bedrooms on the second floor with a window view out to the street. It wasn't big at all; in fact, it was the smallest bedroom. But I wanted a window and was glad with my new room.

While bringing in a box to my new room, I had bumped into my father on the way up the stairs. "Oh, sorry, Papa!" I never called my father "Dad" or "Daddy," like my siblings did. When I was little and speaking my first words, for some reason I refused to pronounce a "D" and called him "Papa" instead, so it simply stuck.

"Whoa, there! Did ye need some help there?" he offered, leaning down and lifting the heavy box from my arms. I followed him up to my room, where he set it down, dusting his hands and observing the vacant room. "It's certainly small. But look at this view, hey? You can see all of The Pool from this loft here!"

Papa was a very jovial figure, and was tall and skinny, not like my mother at all. While she was starting to get plump and was short, he was tall and thin with fair hair and pale grey eyes. When he smiled, his lips always looked lopsided, but that just added to his comical personality. While he and my mum were both happy people, he was the active one and the impulsive one. Much of my personality traits came from him, and he knew how to make anyone laugh.

The first night in our new house, I had terrible nightmares and jolted upright in bed, crying. We hadn't situated all of the beds just yet, so I had to share a bed with my sister Carolyn in her new room downstairs for the night.

Carolyn was five years older than me and had already turned fifteen two months before in January. Ever since she became a teenager, she felt the need to prove that she was all grown-up and ready to act proper and become a woman. What she didn't realize was that I knew deep inside, she was still just a kid and wasn't ready at all to become an adult. I think she knew she wasn't ready either.

She woke up instantly and patted my back soothingly. "Aw, come now, Peggy, don't cry. It was only a dream," she said and pulled me to her gently. "Please, don't cry. You'll be turning ten soon, that means you'll be a big girl, and big girls don't cry. Show me a smile and go back to sleep, okay?"

I showed her a half-hearted smile through my blubbering and we both fell back onto the pillows. Carolyn was fast asleep while I lay awake, wondering what Allerton had in store for me.

When my tenth birthday rolled around on June 18th, I still hadn't made any friends. Thomas, my elder brother by two years, was still eleven and wouldn't turn twelve until July. He was my closest friend and was the complete opposite of Carolyn. He loved to play and make jokes, and dreaded each birthday he had, for it meant that he was one year closer to transforming into an adult. When I felt alone and sad, I would always ask my brother if we could play hide and seek or go down to the candy store or the toy store to take a look. And he would always say yes.

Thomas set a thin, flat present in front of me the morning of my tenth birthday. He wore a cheeky grin; one that resembled my mother's so much. "Happy Birthday, little sis! Now how 'bout you give this present here a look, hey? I really think you'll like it," he said, urging the present closer to me.

While I was tearing the wrapping paper off, I soon realized it was a record. "Nat 'King' Cole?" I read the cover.

"Yeah, that's right. You should give him a listen. He's really good," he told me. So later that day, we played the record, and something in me changed. I never knew how much music could move a person, or how many emotions it could uncover. From that day on, music played a big role in my life, and I would go on to take piano lessons.

That evening, when my mother placed my birthday cake with ten candles in front of me, I closed my eyes and made a wish. _I wish that I can make lots of friends here. Oh! And can they like music too? I like music a lot now. It would be nice too if they liked it as well._

I must have been sitting there wishing for a while because my sister said, "Oh, the wax is melting! Hurry up and blow out the candles, Peggy!"

I blew out the candles, hoping that the wishing gods had heard my wish-and would answer it.

They did.

* * *

_And that concludes the first chapter! This was more of an introduction into Peggy's life and sets up forthcoming events. Can you guess who else's birthday is on June 18th? And can you guess why I named her Peggy?_

_I appreciate reviews and constructive criticism, but please don't review to tell me you hated it. If you do hate it, at least give me pointers on how to make it better! Thanks!_


	2. 1: Meeting the McCartneys

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed! This is the next chapter, which takes place in 1955. I try my best to clarify the dates and ages of the characters in the actual story, but I will start to put the dates up here as well, just in case the events in the story don't make it clear enough. Once again, if I have made any error pertaining to the order of events, or grammar or anything that seems amiss, please let me know and I will try to fix it as best as I can!  
Also, just in case it wasn't understood, Peggy is born in 1943, her brother Thomas is born in 1941, and her sister Carolyn is born in 1938. Paul is born in 1942, and George is born in 1943. I just thought I'd clear that up. :) _

_As of right now, the pairing for the story is still George/Peggy. I might still have a vote later on as the story progresses to see if I should change it to Paul/Peggy. But until then, Paul and Peggy's relationship is purely platonic!_

_I only own the O'Higgins and any other fictional characters. So far, it's just the O'Higgins!_

_And now I hope you enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

In early May of 1955, the old couple next door at 20 Forthlin Road sold their house and moved to London. A couple weeks later, another family moved in. The family consisted of parents and two boys, both around my age. I hid in the dark bushy leaves of the small tree in our front yard, watching them as the parents motioned to the movers what furniture to bring in first. There was a small brick wall that only rose about three feet that separated our yards, and from the tree, I could jump over the wall. But I held my place and studied the family.

I still hadn't made any real friends at school. I had acquaintances, but no one I would invite over for sleepovers or parties. Already two years going to school here and I was alone.

Leaning over to get a better look at the family, I saw what looked like the younger boy running around the small space of their front yard with a toy airplane, zooming it through the sky. The elder brother walked over to the boy.

"Mike! Mum said she wants you to help her with bringing in your box of toys. They've got it off the mover's truck first," he informed. Mike slouched and pouted, his arms hanging limp by his side. He clearly wasn't finished zipping his toy plane through the sky. Nevertheless, he trudged on towards his mother and two boxes of toys.

I must have been leaning over too far while straining to hear and catch a better glimpse, because the next thing I knew, I was toppling out of the tree and onto the grass of the house next door. The fall didn't hurt too much, but I had tumbled right in front of the elder brother, giving him a fright.

"Cor, blimey! You scared me to bloody death, girl!" the elder boy cried out, jumping back at least a foot. He must have recovered quickly from his fright, because he hastily followed it with, "Oh, no, are you all right there?" He knelt down beside me and grabbed my arms, gently hoisting me back onto my feet.

"Oww," I mumbled as I dusted off the knees of my blue dress. I could feel the twigs sticking out of my light brown hair, and tried to shake them out. The boy only laughed. "What are you laughing at?" I asked, feeling embarrassed and offended.

When he saw my frown, he immediately stopped. "Sorry, I wasn't making fun of you! You just looked... interesting. I'm Paul, by the way. We've just moved here from Speke," he said, sticking his hand out for me to shake.

My ears seemed to perk up as soon as he mentioned Speke. "Really? From Speke? I lived there two years ago! Oh, I'm Peggy. Peggy O'Higgins," I said enthusiastically.

Paul smiled. "That's a lot of 'G's' in one name!" He must have seen how cross I looked at that, because he said right after, "Oh, don't feel bad, I didn't mean it in a bad way. Want to know a secret?" he said, motioning for me to come closer.

My pale blue-grey eyes were wide as fruit tarts and I nodded my head. A secret? What secret? Was his dark gelled hair actually a wig? Was he actually a girl in disguise? His big puppy eyes and long lashes could have supported that. Did he snore when he slept? Or maybe he screamed like a girl when he saw spiders? I've never had a friend to tell me secrets before.

"Well," he began as he said lowly, "My real name is James Paul McCartney. But James is me dad's name, so everyone calls me Paul."

"I like Paul better than James," I admitted. "My name is actually Peggy, though. Peggy Mae O'Higgins. Hey, do you like listening to records? I've just saved up some money to buy an Elvis record with. Do you want to come with me sometime?"

His face lit up and he said, "Really? I love Elvis! I've got a couple of his records meself, maybe you can come over and listen to them instead!"

I gasped in both surprise and envy. "You _do?_ You're so lucky! Oh, wow, that saves me money, then! I've been wandering around the house singing Elvis all day, been driving me mum barmy!" I suddenly wondered how talking to this boy came so easy to me. I was never any good at making conversation, but this boy and I seemed to click.

Paul's large sleepy eyes twinkled with laughter and he chuckled. "I've been playin' my Elvis records lots lately, but Dad doesn't mind, he likes it all the same. So you should come over sometime and listen to it at my house, that way yer mum can relax."

Just then, Paul's mother emerged from the front door once again. "Paulie, they've just unloaded your toys and things! Come get them and put them in your new room. I promise you can talk to your new friend later," she said in a sweet, motherly tone.

I giggled at her pet name for her son. "Paulie," I repeated, hoping that I didn't upset him. But I felt so nervous about making a friend that I couldn't control my giggles.

He groaned and waved his hands in front of my face. "Shh! Mum always calls me that, makes me feel like a five-year-old!" I smiled, and he must have thought about it, because he suddenly changed his mind and said, "Well, alright, I'll let you call me Paulie. But not too often! And don't tell anyone else in this neighborhood to call me Paulie, that'd be bloomin' embarrassing!"

Paul called back to his mother that he would be there in a few seconds. He turned from his mother back to me. "I've got to go. I'll talk to you later, Peggy," he said with a small wave and spun around to get his things.

"Wait!" I called desperately. Paul was the only stranger to ever tell me a secret. Didn't that count for something? He looked back at me expectantly and I asked, "Does this mean we can be friends?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Of course! I promise. Besides, I wouldn't let just any mate call me Paulie!" he called back, and I felt at ease.

_I guess wishing gods really do exist._

* * *

_And that will conclude this chapter! I am aware that these chapters aren't too long, but I'm trying to separate the chapters by the events, so I'm not entirely looking to make them incredibly long. I do have a couple that are longer than this, and like I said, it all depends on what is happening._

_Also, since I know a few who read this story didn't understand why I named my character Peggy, I will tell you now! :) While writing this story, I had a few names bouncing around in my head for Peggy, who was then nameless. I had just bought a Buddy Holly album a few days before and was listening to his song "Peggy Sue," and chose that name._

_Please review, and constructive criticism is welcome! :)_


	3. 2: Let Me Hear Some Of That Rock n' Roll

_Here is the next chapter! I'm not sure if you have all noticed by now, but I have decided I will update this story every Tuesday. Unless something comes up and I can't update then, I will put up a notice. But for now, once a week I will put up a new chapter. Also, I've chosen to _not_ have a poll and see if Peggy will go with Paul or George, because I've made up my mind that I'll stick with George. Paul and Peggy's relationship is purely platonic!_

_Once again, if there are any errors in this chapter, please let me know so I can fix it as best as I can!_

_This chapter takes place in the summer of 1955, and Peggy is introduced to a new character... :) I own the O'Higgins, and nothing else! Enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

I was incredibly excited that I had befriended Paul, along with his brother Mike. What really brought us close was that we both had moved from Speke and recalled all of the same locations and hang out spots, and even the teachers we liked and disliked.

"Now how is it that I don't remember you from school?" Paul inquired the day after we met. "I'm usually paying attention a lot in class, but I've never heard the teacher call on you."

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not sure. I'm going into Year 8 this September. Maybe we're in different years," I suggested. We both sat in the small patch of grass in Paul's front yard, watching Mr. McCartney plant new tulips and daisies and other assorted flowers, either in the grass around us or in pots to leave by the door.

Paul raised his eyebrows in realization. "Oh, no wonder, then! I'll be in Year 9 this fall. I'm born in 1942. Funny. Maybe that's why I don't remember you; I'm a whole year older than you. When's your birthday?"

"18th of June. I'll be twelve soon!" I proudly answered, excited about my birthday.

The older boy broke out into an astounded grin. "Really? So am I! Wow, I'm a whole year older than you! Hey, I've got another mate at school named Ivan; he's born the same day as us. Well, same year as me, though. You should meet him sometime!"

I felt a tad down at this bit of news, thinking my only friend ever would hang out with Ivan more than he would me. I only met Ivan once or twice after that mentioning, and was delighted to find that since Paul and I were next-door neighbors, we spent everyday together doing whatever we wanted. We were so inseparable that we even slept over at each other's houses, and had our own mini slumber parties, where we'd stay up all night and just talk or tell stories. Whenever we wanted to signal each other to come over in the middle of the night, whether it was because one of us had a nightmare and needing comforting, or just couldn't sleep, we would take out flashlights and blink them out our bedroom windows to signal each other's attention.

I learned quite a bit about the McCartneys during the first month they moved in next door. Paul's father, as he told me when we first met, was named James, but everyone called him Jim. His mother was named Mary, and his younger brother, Mike, was two years Paul's junior, making him a year below me. Like his elder brother, Mike went by his middle name; I soon found out his name was Peter Michael, and he wanted to follow after his brother and not use his first name.

Paul and I celebrated our birthday together that year. However, we decided that we wouldn't ever get each other birthday presents; we would just celebrate. Giving presents to each other would be left for Christmas, but never our birthdays.

That year, I turned twelve, and Paul turned thirteen. The party was held in Paul's house, and only our families were present. Paul, Mike, Thomas and I were running around the house and occasionally dancing to Elvis records while our parents and Carolyn talked. We switched it to a game of hide and seek, not caring when Carolyn scolded us and said we were too old for that game, and Mike was it.

I frantically searched for a hiding place, thinking about hiding in the front closet. No, that was too obvious! So I sprinted upstairs to hide in the bathroom, when a hand shot out of the door right before the loo and yanked me in. I suppressed a yelp when I got a look at my captor.

"Paul!" I gasped. "Your room is a _horrible_ hiding place! If Mike finds us, we lose and Thomas wins, and _that's_ not fair!" I pointed out with a frustrated sigh.

He shook his head and grabbed something from his bed. When he showed it to me, my irritation dissolved and I stared in wonder. It was a nickel-plated trumpet, brand new and with a black case inlaid with soft, velvety padding on the inside. "My dad gave me this for me birthday."

"It's shiny," I commented, "Are ye going to actually learn to play horn then?"

"I'm not so sure, really. But look here! I was walking home yesterday from school-"

"After your detention with Ivan?" I said, raising an eyebrow. Paul sheepishly nodded. He was never a troublemaker, but just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during a fight at our school between Ivan and another boy, and got roped into after-school detention. I had to ride the bus alone, and Paul had to walk.

"Well I passed the music shop, and saw this acoustic guitar in the window. D'you think I could trade this trumpet fer that guitar?"

Even if I told Paul no, it wouldn't have mattered. Half an hour later, Paul and I were walking out of the music shop, and he was happily clutching the new acoustic guitar. "This is fantastic! Skiffle's getting to be popular now, and when I'm good enough, I'll start me own skiffle group," he mused with excitement. "Who knows? Maybe we'll be bigger than Elvis!"

::::::::::::::::::::

Later that year, still during our summer holiday, Paul and I were sitting in the grass in my front yard, of course he had his guitar propped up in his lap and he was strumming away at a few shaky chords. I was wearing my favorite peach gingham dress with a lacey white collar and a big pink bow on the collar. In my hand was a sketchpad my mother had gotten me for my last birthday, and I was doodling pictures of Paul playing the guitar, or drawing flowers in the garden. I enjoyed anything artistic, and I loved listening to Paul's guitar playing while I drew. After a few minutes, Paul anxiously tapped on my knee.

"Peggy, Peggy, Peggy! Pegs, listen to this!" he instructed, and repositioned his fingers on the fret board of the guitar. He strummed one, two, three, four chords, then started all over again, and began to sing. I had never heard him sing a ballad before, only along to jumpy Elvis records. But until then, I never knew what an amazingly sweet voice he had.

"_Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own._"

I grinned and clapped my hands. "That was brilliant, Paul! Did you figure that out yourself?"

He nodded. "Ta! I heard Louis Armstrong singing it on a record me dad has, and learned it by listening." He looked so proud of himself that I couldn't even take my smile off of my own face. I was proud of him too. Not just because of the song bit he had successfully strummed on guitar, but just because he was here, with me, and still my friend. I never had a friend, much less this long, before.

"You know, Paulie," I started timidly, "you're my best friend. Ever. I've never had a real friend before."

He gave me a cheery grin, and I could tell he was flattered. "Really? Aw, Pegs," he said and hugged me. "You're my best friend too. But never had a real friend before? That's horrible!" He thought for a moment, and then grabbed his guitar. "Just hold on, I'll be right back." He ran into the house with his guitar, but not before snatching up my pencil and sketchpad, and seconds later returned empty handed. "Come with me," he said and pulled me up on my feet.

"Where are we going?" I questioned as we walked down the street.

"To me friend's house!" he answered, and we soon stood at a bus stop. "We were mates before I moved here. Haven't seen him since I moved, and I think you'll get along jus' fine with him. You'll like him, really."

The bus arrived shortly, and when we got in, Paul waved to the driver. "Hullo, Mr. Harrison! We're off to visit George," he said.

Mr. Harrison, the driver, let out a chuckle. "Well, Paul! Haven't seen you in a while. Like the new house? All right, then, you know which stop t' geroff on, right?"

"Yes, sir."

The bus took us from Allerton all the way to Speke, which wasn't very far at all. It only took about twenty minutes, before we got off at a bus stop and walked for another five minutes. I recognized so many of the streets and buildings, and it brought back memories. Some things had changed, for example a few buildings were gone or one or two were added. But for the most part, it was the same Speke I lived in two years ago.

"Wow," I sighed, "I haven't been here since we moved. Brings back a lot of memories."

My friend nodded in agreement. "Neither have I, but that wasn't so long ago now, was it? Come 'ead, it's this way."

We arrived in a small neighborhood with two story houses, all connected like in our neighborhood. Paul led me to one of the houses that had the number 25 on the door. He knocked three times, and it swung open. There stood a tall, lanky boy who was older than us by a few years. He gave us a lazy nod. "Hullo, Paul. Come to see George, have you?"

"Hi Peter. Yeah, is George about?"

Not two seconds later, another boy rushed to the doorway and nudged Peter to the side. He was in the middle of munching on a sandwich, and quickly swallowed. "Paul! Good to see you. Haven't heard from ye since ye left, mate!" He had a wide grin and a skinny face, and was probably even skinnier than Peter.

Paul matched his grin and gestured towards me. "This is Peggy, she lives next door to me new house. Pegs, this is George. He's a year under me, so he's the same age as you."

I looked at him strangely; he seemed oddly familiar. Suddenly, I blurted out, "I remember you! I was at primary school with you two years ago. You're George Harrison, right?"

George smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that's me. I remember seeing you too, Peggy, right? With that really Irish or Scottish sounding last name."

I chuckled a bit sheepishly. "It's O'Higgins," I replied quietly. "But anyways, I moved out to Allerton two years ago and that's how I met Paul, he's right next door now."

George scoffed playfully. "Looks like Allerton's stealin' all of me friends! Well, you two want to head down to get some sodas? Summer's been a drag staying home," he said and called back to Peter, "Tell Mum I'm off with Paul!"

While we were walking to a local diner, I was secretly watching George. Something about him was incredibly adorable, and he seemed like a sweet kid. I didn't talk to him when I went to school with him, maybe a few "hellos" and other small casual things, but he looked so different now. He really was a top student at school, but now he looked more laid-back. He was definitely good-looking too, something I had overlooked in primary school. Or maybe my hormones just hadn't kicked in yet. I had zoned out until Paul finally clapped his hand on my shoulder.

"Pegs!" he said loudly, grabbing my attention. "All right there?"

"What!" I cried, completely startled. I shook it off and laughed. "Oh, sorry 'bout that! Just letting my mind wander. What did ye say?"

"Actually," George began, "I was asking what kind of music ye listened to, or if you played any instruments."

"Right! I love all this rock and roll stuff that's popping up lately, like Elvis and stuff, and I play piano. Not a rock instrument, but it's something." I shrugged my shoulders as we walked into the diner and up to a booth. "What about you?"

George gave me one of his bright grins. "Same fer me, but I play a bit of guitar instead of piano."

A pretty waitress with short blonde hair grinned at us with a pen and pad of paper in hand. "Hello there! Now what can I get fer ye kids?" she said with a bubbly attitude.

Paul and George both ordered a Coke, while I got cream soda. When the waitress walked away, Paul excitedly announced, "Guess what? I've just got a guitar not too long ago! We should jam, you and me." His eyes were wide and twinkling. "We should start a group."

"What, like skiffle?" George clarified. His toothy smile quickly appeared on his face, and he nodded. "Yeah! We could do it, couldn't we? Who knows, we could be bigger than Elvis," he joked, and winked. "Thank you very much," he imitated in an Elvis-like voice.

I giggled uncontrollably at that, though I couldn't understand why. Maybe it was because I was just so nervous around him for some strange reason. When George glanced over at me, clearly happy that his impersonation had amused me, I had to hide my blush. His smile was contagious, and not to mention gorgeous, and I smiled right back at him from across the table.

Paul was to my left, and he cleared his throat. He was about to say something to us when the waitress came by with our drinks. She set the glass bottles along with the bill on our table, and all three of us fished our pockets for cash.

"Hold on, I've got it," Paul said as he slapped a couple pence on the table. We each grabbed out bottles and headed out, leaving me wondering why we even bothered to sit in a booth in the first place.

We decided to take a walk to the park. All three of us were sipping at our sodas and chatting along the way.

"Now, if you're going to be bigger than Elvis, I should start getting yer autographs and taking pictures with you now, hey?" I joked.

"Right, and you can manage our fan clubs and everything," said Paul with a playful smile. "Who knows? Those John Hancocks and photos could all be worth millions someday!"

I didn't know it then, but things would change drastically for all three of us.

* * *

_This chapter is longer than the first two, so I hope you all liked that :) And I've finally worked George into this story! I will warn you though, since I've started this story so early in their lives, Peggy and George's relationship will build slowly. _

_Questions? Comments? Concerns? Please review, then! Tell me what you think of this story so far! :)_


	4. 3: An Hour of Darkness

_It's not Tuesday! It's the first hour of Sunday! So why am I updating? Because this chapter is more of a background info sort of thing. It's important, and has a bit of character development (if you squint, I guess). No, this chapter doesn't have George in it, which is why I'm posting it up now, so you can read it and understand this bit of information, and STILL get a George chapter this week without feeling disappointed. I _will_ be putting up another chapter on Tuesday, I'm not moving the date of anything. This is more of a bonus, so surprise! It's not the best chapter, but it needed to be done. Otherwise, I'd be skipping the year 1956 and that'd be a problem!_

_Also, I am updating because I will not be around from August 12 to August 21 to update this story, and I thought I'd get more of it out before then. And school starts August 23 for me, and then I really won't have much time to write or update. Possibly. This is just to get things going a bit! :)_

_So here's the next chapter, and though there isn't any romance in it, I hope you still enjoy!_

_Remember, I only own the O'Higgins! (So far, anyways!)_

_-M_

_

* * *

_

1956 was a difficult year for both for the McCartneys and us.

My mother was in hysterics when she found out my sister Carolyn, who was eighteen then, had applied for and been accepted by a school out in New York and had already made arrangements to move out there in the fall. Mother was always either weeping or grumpy during that time, and she was an emotional wreck. It must have been because Carolyn was never close to my mother, and always acted distant, grown-up, and posh. She even tried dropping her scouse accent and started using "Queen's English," which was pretty much the accent they used in London.

One day I came home from Paul's house during summer holiday to find my mother crying and sipping at a bottle of rum. My father was out at work, Thomas was out with his mates, and Carolyn was working as a secretary's apprentice at a local business. It was just my mother at home, feeling incredibly depressed.

I was terrified to see her in this state. Where had my loving, bright-eyed mother gone? Where had her tinkling-bell laughs and joyous smiles disappeared to? Now there was this broken, dull, and solemn woman crying on the living room couch with a bottle of alcohol in one hand and a tissue in the other.

I snatched the bottle from her hands. "Mummy! Oh, don't do this, please, stop crying and no more alcohol fer you!" I placed the bottle on the coffee table of the living room and sat down on the couch beside her, wrapping my arms around her.

She sobbed even harder. I was amazed she was able to form words through her blubbering. "Where did I go wrong? Did I not love her enough? Why would she just get up and leave us? I must have been terrible to her! My poor baby!"

"What?" I blurted out, completely confused. Who was she talking about? "Are you... are you crying about _Carolyn?_"

Nodding, my mother blew her nose in the tissue and threw herself into another round of bawling and her tears ruined her make-up even further. "Why would she move so far away from us? Does—oh, bloody hell—does she not love _me?_"

"Mum, you did nothing wrong," I assured her, "Carolyn is just trying to be independent. She probably thinks her leaving will make her seem like less of a burden to you. She's been like that ever since we were little! Now, hey, she does love you, all right? Don't cry."

"But—but, oh goodness, I've never been _cruel_ to you children, have I? Peggy, darling, I'm so sorry if I've ever been wrong towa—"

"Mum, _please!_" I said firmly, gripping her shoulders and making her look at me. "You've been the best mother anyone could ever hope for, and told you, you've never been wrong towards us. Carolyn is just trying to prove she's an adult, and you can't change who she is. Just—just support her and love her like you always do, hey?"

My mother turned to me and tried to smile while wiping away her tears. "Oh, Peggy, dear, you're so sweet. Bless your heart, love," she said. She returned my embrace and then stood up, straightening her dress and hair. "I should get started on dinner then, hey? How about you come help me!"

Later that fall, she cried again when Carolyn left, but she had a talk with her the day before, settling out their differences. We were there with her at the airport, and I could tell my sister was nervous. She kept fiddling with locks of her long auburn hair, and she was chewing her lip a few times. Thomas went up and hugged her, and ruffled her hair.

"Oh, don't be so cheeky, Tom!" she groaned, but I could tell she was trying not to laugh; or was she trying not to cry?

When it came my turn to wish her good-bye, I hugged her tightly and said, "You don't have to act to strong, you know. You don't have to be such an adult. That's what Mum and Papa are for!" She opened her mouth to say something, but I continued, "But I know you're tough, and you'll be just fine in America. You make sure you let them know you're from The Pool, all right? You show them just how tough and proud we scousers are!"

Carolyn smiled and drew in a shaky breath, hugging me back. I couldn't remember how long ago my sister had hugged me. "Thank you. For actually _being_ a little sister. Watch for my letters, hey?" She then went to say good-bye to our parents, and I could hear her trying to sooth my mother.

I smiled when we all said our good byes. Because at that very moment at the airport, it was the first time in years I had ever heard my sister speak with her natural Liverpudlian accent.

::::::::::::::::::::

Aside from my family problems, Paul's family wasn't doing so great either. His mother, Mary, was having problems due to her heavy smoking, and things weren't looking so great. They found out she had breast cancer, and Paul was a complete wreck. When his family first heard about it, Mr. McCartney was devastated and the house was always gloomy whenever I visited.

On October 31st, Paul, Mike and I walked back home from the bus stop after school. Lately, I would stay with the brothers after school instead of going to my house, because I felt I couldn't leave them alone. They were just as miserable as their father was.

When we walked in the house, we found that it had been tidied up and dusted. As Paul and I entered his room, we saw that the bed was made, everything was placed neatly on the shelves, and no dirty clothes were lying about. He even had a set of clean clothes placed at the end of his bed. Mike's room was the same; spick and span, with a set of clean clothes on his bed.

"Mum must've cleaned the house," Paul mumbled, looking tired and worried. "But why? She's always telling us to clean up. She shouldn't have, since she's going into surgery today."

"She is?" I cried. This was news to me, and I was instantly nervous. I never liked hearing about surgery, and things could either end up wonderfully or horribly after surgery. And what did all of her tidying up mean? Maybe she knew it was her time to go; maybe she was preparing them, though in a subtle way, for when she departed. "Will she be all right?"

Paul was fidgeting with the collar of the fresh shirt that was lying on his bed. "I don't know, Pegs."

Later that evening, while their mother was in surgery, Paul and Mike's Aunt Gin came over to watch them. I was also over at the house to keep them company while their father was at the hospital with their mother. The whole time, I sat on the couch with the two terrified brothers. Paul sat to my left, huddled in a ball, and Mike sat to my right, biting his nails and staring out into space.

Paul reached out and gripped my hand, squeezing it so tightly I could feel them going numb. He gulped loudly before voicing his major concern. "What if she doesn't make it?" he rasped. His eyes were bloodshot and wide. I had never seen him so vulnerable and lost before.

I gave his hand a squeeze back and pulled him close into a hug, searching for the right words to say. "Paulie, whatever happens tonight, was meant to be. Whatever happens, your mum will always be in your heart, okay?" I kissed his temple and tried not to cry. Paul was always the strong one, and now that he was on the verge of breaking down, I knew it was my turn to be strong for him.

Unfortunately, all hell broke loose a few hours later, when Paul's aunt rushed in the room with a tear-streaked face. Her body shook and jolted with sobs, and she managed to strangle out the news. "Paul, Michael, I'm so sorry, dears. Your mum didn't make it."

Mike sat frozen in his place, trying to process the news. He had said little ever since he heard his mother was going to have surgery, and tried his best to control his emotions. Either he was putting up a front and holding back his tears very well, or his mind was in so much shock that he forgot to feel grief. Sitting there, he brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, staring with wide eyes at his devastated aunt.

Paul, on the other hand, looked as if someone had shot him in the foot. He sprang up from his seat and cried out, "Christ, then what are we going to do without her _money_?"

I was stunned by his unfeeling words, and apparently so was his aunt, because she marched right over and gave him a slap across his cheek. But I could tell that wasn't what Paul had wanted to say. His mind was drawing blanks just like his brother.

When his aunt left the room, Paul ran outside to the front yard garden, with me following close behind. He stood in the grass, glaring down at the flowers his father had planted and his shoulders were trembling. "Paul," I began, but he cut me off.

"She can't do that!" he choked out bitterly, "How come her, of all people? Why do they take people who are good and loved? Jesus, Peggy, did you even _hear_ what I just said in there? Me mum's just passed and the only thing I could say was 'What are we going to do without her money?' What kind of a son _am_ I?"

"You're in pain and grief, Paul, that's what," I told him in a soft, soothing voice, and sat him down in the grass with me. I held him close again and rocked him back and forth slowly and gently while he cried. "I don't know why this happened, and I'm so sorry that it did. But ye can't change things. You have to keep moving on, hey?"

My tears started to overflow, and soon I was sobbing along with him. I loved Mary McCartney just as he did, and she was one of the sweetest women I had ever known. I couldn't imagine how hard this must have been on Paul and his family if it was hard on me as well.

I chuckled bitterly through my sobs. "God, everyone's leaving. Carolyn's left, now yer mum. Who else?"

Paul's grip tightened on me, and his bloodshot eyes bore right into mine. "Don't you leave, either. Don't you dare, Peggy! I won't let you, ye hear?"

I suddenly knew Paul's greatest fear. He couldn't handle losing people dear to him, and he hated feeling powerless to stop those loved ones from going. "Don't worry, Paul, I'm not going anywhere," I promised.

He sniffled and buried his face into my shoulder. "Good. Cause it hurts too bloody much. Jesus, it's a good thing yer here, Peggy, otherwise I'd have already gone out of me bloody mind," he said with a laugh, though it wasn't a happy one at all. We stayed like that, both sobbing in the night under the stars. I almost felt that the stars were mocking us. How could this evening look so beautiful when the day was so dreary?

Soon, we were both reduced to silent tears and the occasional hiccup. My eyes were beginning to droop and the cold wind felt numb against my skin. Paul cut through the silence with a statement that brought back the feeling in my skin.

"H-Hey, Peggy? Just so you know... I love you. You're the best thing that's happened to me since I've moved here."

Tears sprung from my eyes all over again. I understood what he meant. It wasn't romantic love, but the love for a dear friend. I whispered, "I love you too, Paul. You're the best thing that's happened to me in my whole _life_."

* * *

_Not the happiest chapter in the story, but like I said, it had to be written, and it does have significance! It is a bit sentimental and if you think it cheesy, that's all right because it's not the best written. So you now see the strong friendship between Paul and Peggy, and this does play a big role (sort of) later in the story. Have you noticed Paul has been there for Peggy more than her own brother, Thomas, has? Well we see Paul acting like a "brotherly figure" later in the story, so this chapter actually does lay out some of that groundwork for his actions in the future. _

_The next chapter will have George! I will put that up this Tuesday, so you won't have to wait much longer for the next chapter! :)_

_**Also**, I do enjoy it when I get reviews. They make me very happy and motivate me to continue writing this story. If you liked it, tell me in a review! If not, tell me also in a review, and tell my why and how I can fix it!_

_P.S: Did you get where I got the title of this chapter from? :) Tell me in your review if you did!_


	5. 4: Drinkin' Wine Spo Dee O Dee

_Doesn't seem like too long ago since I updated... because it wasn't. :) Well I hope that last chapter was something good to read, and if some of you did not get why I named that chapter "An Hour of Darkness," I will tell you now! It's a lyric from the song "Let It Be," a song that mentions Paul's mother, Mary. I saw it fit because the last chapter mentioned her death, and it wasn't such a happy year for either Paul or Peggy. _

_This chapter is much happier! Once again another birthday, go figure, I mention practically every single one of them. And if the last chapter disappointed you because there was no George in it, you'll be glad to find that George is in this one. :) Once again, if you find any errors, don't hesitate to tell me! (I try editing them as best as I can before they're released, which is also why I liked to post a new chapter once every week; I'm always thinking of things to change at the last minute.)_

_So I only own the O'Higgins... so far :) And now I hope you enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

The summer of 1957 was the most interesting one I had ever had in all of my fourteen years. First off, Paul was done mourning over his mother's death, and I would often hear him plucking out the same tune on his guitar whenever he had it with him.

"What's that song, Paul?" I asked one day. "I've never heard it before."

He looked down at his calloused fingertips for a moment, rubbing his thumb along the mottled ends, and then answered in a quiet voice, "It's a song I wrote. Fer me mum." His gaze met mine hesitantly, and he said, "Would you like to hear it?"

I nodded enthusiastically, thinking it was incredibly sweet of him to write a song for his mother. And I knew that he had to write it for her—it was his way of coping with the pain. So he strummed out a tune that wasn't at all like I had expected. I was anticipating a slow, melancholy song that would reflect his heartbreak when his mother passed. However I found that I was overjoyed to be proven wrong; it was at a moderate tempo and sounded upbeat.

"_Well I woke up late this morning, my head was in a whirl, only then I realized, I lost my little girl..."_

When he finished, he looked up from his guitar and at me, shyly at first as if unsure if I had liked it. "So... that's the song. It's called 'I Lost My Little Girl.' "

I gave him a reassuring smile and leaned over to ruffle his hair. "It was lovely, Paul. So, the first song Paul McCartney has ever written! I think I've just witnessed history, here!" I grinned at him, just as he had swatted my hand away from his hair.

"Hey, don't do that! I'm not a child," he whined. "Our birthdays are coming up, and I'll be fifteen then!"

Our birthdays had rolled around that June, and we spent it sneaking off alcohol from our kitchens and having a small party along with George, Mike, and Thomas. Though my brother was the oldest of us five and should have been the more sensible one, he still acted much younger and joined us in swiping some bottles of beer or wine or other intoxicating beverages.

"Well we've got two wine bottles, both half full, six beer bottles, and a full champagne bottle," Thomas said after we had put together our loot. We were out at a nearby park by the swing set at around nine at night. Our parents believed we were at George's house, and George's parents believed he was at Paul's house.

Paul reached into the pile and retrieved the two wine bottles. He handed one to me. "Happy birthday, Pegs," he said as he uncorked his bottle, creating a hollow popping sound.

I did the same and bumped my bottle against his. "Happy birthday, Paulie. Well, cheers mate. I just hope I won't vomit this all out!" And we both took a large gulp of the liquid.

What I wasn't aware of was that alcohol had a burning sensation when it went down your throat. So, naturally, I coughed and sputtered, spraying Paul with back-washed wine. Apparently he was able to kept the liquor down and laughed at me.

"What the bloody 'ell?" I cried, wiping my lips with my forearm. I was dressed in a pale peach dress with thin straps and the skirts fanned out, stopping a couple inches past my knees. I was wishing for a jacket right about then, because my arms were getting cold and I really didn't want to have the blood red substance on my arm. I wiped it off on my dress skirts and made a face. "This is dead disgusting!"

"Aw, come 'ead, Pegs," Paul said, "it wasn't that bad."

Thomas was already picking up the beer bottles and handing one to each of us. "Maybe you'll like this one better," he told me, and popped off the cap, taking a large swig. George, Mike, and Paul followed in suit, as I stared suspiciously at the bottle.

Finally, I opened it and took a small sip. This time, I didn't gag and hack the liquid back up, but it didn't taste any better. When the four boys looked at me expectantly, I shrugged my shoulders and mumbled, "Tastes s'all right." I daringly took a big gulp, forcing myself to swallow. After a few times, it became more and more tolerable.

All five of us giggled suddenly. We felt older, but not in the way my sister Carolyn felt; we didn't feel like responsible adults, definitely not! It made me feel dangerous in a way, like I wasn't just a wimpy child anymore. It seemed to blend into the rock and roll image the boys were starting to go after.

Mike had just received a camera of his own this past January for his thirteenth birthday, and had been taking pictures non-stop ever since. At this moment in time, Paul chose to wrap his left arm around my shoulders, while holding the beer bottle in his right, and called to his brother, "Oy, Mike! Get yer camera out and snap this one, then!"

Both of us wore cheesy, but extremely happy smiles as the younger McCartney took a snapshot of us. I giggled and placed a sloppy peck on Paul's cheek, and Mike took a picture of that as well.

"Might as well take pictures now so we'll remember things, just in case we're all too pissed to remember tomorrow!" I commented, taking a gulp of beer. I scrunched up my face at the burning sensation, but soon smiled and clinked my bottle against Paul's. "Cheers, mate!"

We sat out in the park talking and feeling tipsy. Thomas was complaining that there wasn't a bathroom around, so we all laughed as he ran into the bushes lining the park to relieve himself. I was sitting up against a tree while Paul and Mike were having a brotherly, and probably their first near-drunken argument over who was better: Elvis or Buddy Holly.

I wasn't nearly as drunk as those two were, but I could feel my brain hazing. A figure plopped down beside me and I could see the shy smile on his face. "Hullo," George greeted. He was holding a beer bottle in one hand, and a cookie he must have snagged from the party at my house earlier. He took a bite out of the cookie, and I wondered why every time I say this boy, he was eating or drinking something.

"Hi," I replied, sipping at the bottle of beer in my hand. "Feeling the buzz now, are we?"

"Jus' a bit," he sheepishly answered, and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, maybe quite o' bit. So, what d'you think?" he asked, nodding over at the two brothers who were still bickering by the jungle gym. "Buddy Holly or Elvis?"

I took another swig of beer and suddenly answered in a rant. "Oh, definitely Buddy Holly for me! I mean, Elvis is all good and jolly, but really, that Holly bloke's got style! What kind of a place is called Lubbock, by the way? Daft American city, I'd imagine. Oh, but if Buddy Holly's from there, it can't be too bad. Now, those _glasses_ he wears! He'll start a new fashion, that man! But his songs are all just great, aren't they? And the way he sings is brilliant and raw and fresh. Oh, did you know he's got a song called Tha—"

But I didn't get to finish my never-ending rant—for I must have been annoying anyways—because at that instant, George quickly leaned forward and captured my lips with his, silencing my jumble of words. I don't know how long it lasted at all, but I knew that my eyes instantly fluttered closed, and I felt a ripple of shocks throughout my body. I took note that he tasted sweet, like sugar and chocolate; must have been because of the cookie. Then, I started to softly kiss him back. It was the best feeling I had ever experienced, and I just wanted this moment to never end. Who knew kissing was so intoxicating? But I was a bit gone myself to begin with.

I held back a groan of protest when George pulled away. He offered up a lazy smile and brought the beer bottle to his lips; his lips that had been on mine only moments ago, and finished it in one gulp. He lazily stood and tossed it in a garbage can, just as Mike ran over to us in order to get away from Paul.

"Peggy! Cor, this brother of mine is driving me barmy! He was all over Elvis not too long ago, and now that this Buddy Holly's got a chart topper, he's saying he's the best!" I could tell Mike was the most sober out of all of us, because he wasn't tripping over himself or forming incoherent words.

Paul walked over and shook his head. "Shurrup, Mike! Christ, how long 'ave we been out here? Dad will kill us both!"

Thomas bounded over from the bushes, overhearing what Paul had said, and was instantly alert was well. "You're right. Come 'ead, Peggy Mae, before Mum has a heart attack!"

I hugged Paul good-bye. "Happy birthday again, Paulie! Better wash the stench of beer off 'fore yer dad notices!"

He chuckled and hugged back. "You too, Pegs. Hope yer not hungover!"

I waved good-bye to Mike and George, staring a bit longer at the latter. I didn't know if George meant the kiss or if he was drunk, but I decided to drop it for now.

* * *

_Oh well those naughty kids! Absolutely horrid! Kidding. Not saying all kids do, but most kids have an experience with alcohol waaaaaay before they're even 21! I know I have..._

_But that's a completely off-topic story! For all of you Buddy Holly fans, yes, she was about to mention the song "That'll Be The Day." :) Now please review! They make me happy and motivate me and give me the power to speak to animals. How else did you think Dr. Dolittle got his powers?_

_Oh, also hope you guys enjoyed how I finally got around to Peggy and George's first kiss! Took a while, but I did say their relationship would grow **very** slowly... sorry if it's crawling at a snail's pace but I usually rush my stories, I don't want to do that with this one. Tell me if you liked it, tell me if you didn't! Constructive criticism is very welcome too please. :)_


	6. 5: He Just Do What He Please

_Thank you to those who reviewed! (Hey, look, it's Sunday again! Meaning I'm trying to move this story along a bit!) It really does make me feel happy and that this story is actually being read and liked. So this isn't much of a long chapter, but we are introduced to a new person... maybe someone that many of you have been waiting to appear in this story? :) I know I was! Writing and trying to get my words to sound like this person was difficult, because he's really cheeky and I'm not, but I tried! And after this chapter, you'll be seeing much more of him :)_

_I only own the O'Higgins...so far! :) Now enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

Every time I saw George after that kiss, I tried to bring it up. I really did try, but then I would start to get this funny feeling in my stomach, and I'd forget all about it. I still didn't even know if he was aware he had kissed me. I was tipsy, but I still remembered every feeling that kiss gave me. Since I was too much of a wimp to mention it, I just dropped it; he didn't seem to remember it at all anyways.

Paul and George were amazingly good at guitar now, and were even writing a few of their own songs. They weren't a group or anything, they would just write and plays songs on their own. They were both getting noticeably taller. It seemed as if they had both grown six inches in just a few months!

One Saturday, on July 6th that summer of 1957, Paul invited me to come with him to St. Peter's Woolton Parish Church to see the Rose Queen garden fete down in Woolton, which wasn't very far from Allerton. He said his schoolmate, Ivan, wanted to introduce him to some other fellow whose band he was in.

"Wait, you mentioned this before and said you didn't want to go. Now all of a sudden, you do?" I said the day before. Ivan was by his house a few days back, inviting us both to go, and Paul had turned him down.

Paul's cheeks reddened furiously and he went back to plucking out Eddie Cochran's "Twenty Flight Rock" on his guitar. "Yeah, well, Ivan said.. uhm said it was a good place to pick up girls."

I wasn't too surprised by his answer, truthfully, because he was now fifteen and he'd never had a proper girlfriend yet. He had told me about some of his flimsy crushes, but nothing too serious. It took everything in me not to snort with laughter at his answer.

While we walked, his guitar was strapped around him and hung down his back upside down. He was chewing a pick and began humming a tune, and I had a feeling this meeting with this band was more of an audition.

"Ivan doesn't always play with them, though, just when one of the other guys can't make it. He said they'll be playing a bit past three o'clock. They're called The Quarrymen," Paul told me as we strolled down the streets to St. Peter's Church. He had on a pale casual suit jacket and a darker check collared shirt with the top few buttons undone. He wore dark drainpipe trousers and a pair of winkle pickers his dad bought him for his fifteenth birthday. Recently, he had even begun to style his hair with a slight quiff. I almost thought he looked half like a Teddy Boy.

I had on my best pale lavender-coloured floral dress that came just past my knees with a dark thin bow around the waist. I was glad it had short sleeves, because it was dreadfully hot and there wasn't much wind at all. I wore a pair of small heels and my wavy light brown hair flowed down just past my shoulders. Paul insisted I wore this dress because it made my eyes stand out even more. He then told me right after that to not let anyone know he said that, or else they'd think he knew about fashion and would suspect him of being a poof.

"The Quarrymen?" I repeated. That somehow sounded familiar. Was it a place? Or a school, maybe? "Oh, like Quarry Bank High? Is that where these blokes are from?"

Paul shrugged. "I guess so. Most of these guys are older than us by a couple of years. They're a skiffle group. And who knows, if I join them, maybe I can get George in the band too."

St. Peter's Church was bustling with people, and I nearly ran into dozens of kids running about. Just as we entered a huge crowd around a flatbed truck, the band standing on the bed of the truck struck up a jumpy tune.

I laughed as soon as I heard the sharp voice sing out the lyrics to the tune. "Hey, it's 'Maggie Mae!' Blimey, is that The Quarrymen? They're pretty good, I'd say." I looked over at Paul, who was studying the group intently. Soon a faint smile spread across his face, and I knew he'd approved of this band.

"Hey, Paul! You made it!" Ivan Vaughan pushed his way through the crowd and clapped his hand on Paul's shoulder. He was much taller than Paul, nearly six feet, and had much more pointed features than my friend beside me. He smiled lightly at me. "Hello, Peggy. How d'you like that band there?"

I politely smiled back. "They're great, Ivan! Who's that guy up there in the red check shirt singing?"

"Oh, him? That's John Lennon." He turned to Paul. "I'll introduce you to 'im later. He's the one who started this band. I'll warn you now, though, he's cheeky and an ass some times, but Lennon's not a bad guy. I think you two will really get along."

After the band left the truck and moved to the church hall, Ivan beckoned for us to follow. In the hall, we saw the whole band lounging about with a stage set up behind them, all drinking beers and making remarks on their show.

"John. John!" Ivan called to the boy in the red check shirt. John turned around and I could see that with his duck's ass haircut, quiff, drainpipe trousers, popped collar and smug smile that this boy was a Ted. "This is Paul McCartney, from school."

John gave a lazy nod in our direction, and Paul did the same. I, on the other hand, felt this was a horrible and awkward meeting. Didn't Ivan say they'd get along? John barely paid us any attention.

Ivan gave us a shrug and said, "He's a bit pissed now, since they've been drinking a little. You can stay, though, and play if you want." He gestured towards the guitar on Paul's back, then left to strike up a conversation with one of the other boys in the hall.

"So much for picking up girls, hey?" I teased and flicked at his jacket lapel a couple times. Paul chuckled and playfully shoved my shoulder.

A few moments later, John came towards us, a beer in hand. "Want a beer?" he offered, nearly slurring his words. Paul declined, while I made a face and shook my head. This caused the older boy to laugh. "What, the bird doesn't like alcohol? Don't be a sissy, now."

"Chatter on, son, keep drinking that and you'll feel the hangover soon enough," I retorted and scrunched up my face in distaste, not liking this boy one bit.

However, John seemed to sober up immediately and shook his head. "Cheeky there. So, Paul, how all right are you on that guitar there?"

Paul shrugged and pulled the guitar over his shoulder and put it in front of him. "I'm all right."

Without so much as a glance at the Teddy Boy, he launched into Eddie Cochran's "Twenty Flight Rock," singing all of the words correctly and playing each note perfectly. I was so proud of him when I saw Lennon's face. He was amazed and I could tell he was enjoying the performance.

When he finished the song, John let a grin creep up onto his lips. "Nice meeting you, kid. Now we've got a gig to do."

Paul's face fell, and the next thing I knew, we were walking home in silence. I knew Paul wanted to join the band and play in an actual skiffle group, but was trying not to look so dejected.

"Oh, don't sulk, Paulie," I cooed, "that Lennon's daft and, like Ivan said, an ass. We've still got the rest of summer to have fun and you can join a different skiffle group."

He didn't meet my eyes. "Pegs, my family's taking a trip in two weeks. We'll be off in Yorkshire with me cousins and uncles and aunts. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, I only found out yesterday."

Now it was my turn to feel dejected. I was looking forward to spending my time away from school with Paul, and now he was leaving? "Oh. That's all good for you, then!" I said as cheery as possible. "I can, uhm, just see if George is busy or not."

Thinking of George made me remember that drunken kiss in the park only a month before. I hadn't seen much of George since, and like I had said before, when I did see him, I wouldn't talk about the kiss. Hopefully, he didn't have plans for the summer.

* * *

_Yes, that long awaited character (for me, anyways) in John Lennon! He's my favorite Beatle so I was getting excited when I finally worked him into the story. :) Yes, I know, there's no George in this one, again, and many of you may be wondering, "Well if this is a Peggy/George story, why is he in only about half the chapters?" That's because they're still so young, and they're being difficult teenagers sending off mixed signals. But he'll be in this story more as the chapters progress! :)_

_Also may I say it makes me happy to know people actually **READ** these notes I put before and after the story... I thought most people just overlooked them and continued onto the next chapter. But glad I see a lot of you reading these! :) So if you actually are reading this, tell me, who's that little old man?_


	7. 6: I Should Have Known Better

_Once again, thanks so much to those of you who reviewed! And honestly, your answers to the "question" at the end of the note in the last chapter amused me to no end! I might have to put more questions like that from now on :) Now here is the next chapter, brace yourselves for this one! Well, not really, but it might be shocking? Read and find out! _

_As always, I only own the O'Higgins... so far :) Now I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Paul had only been gone for five days—five _long_ days—and I was loathing my summer vacation. He took his guitar with him, since he said he had some song ideas he wanted to work on. However, he did leave me his Elvis records and the number to his aunt and uncle's house in Yorkshire.

"Just in case you miss me too much," he had told me with a coy smirk that had me rolling my eyes and shoving him in the arm.

So far, I was tinkering around on the spinet piano in the living room of my house, playing jazzy songs and classical songs, and even some Elvis tunes I had figured out. I had recently taken an interest in Ray Charles and Jerry Lee Lewis, so I was starting to tackle some of their songs as well. I was onto my third sketchbook now, drawing accurate pictures of random household items such as the couch, a whole sketch of the kitchen, or even the small tree outside and people I saw walking by. I found that I enjoyed designing things the most, and would draw people in clothes I had made up on the spot. But nothing was keeping me amused for as long as I had wanted them to. Mum and Papa were away at work during the day, and Thomas has out with his own mates. I would compose a letter or two and send them to Carolyn, but even then I wouldn't get a reply until a week or so later.

"Guess there's no choice, then," I mumbled to myself. I began to feel nervous and almost decided against it, but I was far too bored to think of anything else to do instead. It was time to pay George a visit and see if he had any plans for the summer.

I changed into a simple off-white dress and flat slippers, pulling my hair into a side braid that ran past the front of my shoulder, and walked out the front door. The sun was high in the sky that afternoon, yet there were clouds blotting out most of it's rays. It was no wonder us English folk were so pale, compared to some of the Californian girls and other people in America I had heard about. We had "English tans."

It was just instinct for me to look over at the McCartney's yard whenever I exited the house. Usually because Paul would be out there strumming away at his guitar, or Mike would be taking pictures with his new camera of the people on the street, or of flowers than had just bloomed, or of Paul playing a song. I saw none of those things when I walked through my front yard. I did, however, see a figure walking up to the front door at 20 Forthlin Road.

The boy was fairly tall, with black drainpipe trousers, worn down winkle pickers, and a dark drape jacket with the collar popped up. He coolly strode up to the front door, and squinted at the numbers on the door, leaning in closely to read them. He knocked three times, straightened out and took a step away from the door, and then waited a few seconds.

"They're not home," I called to him, craning my neck to get a better look at him. Why did this boy look so familiar? "They're all on vacation for another week or two."

Then boy spun around to face me with a jump, and I immediately recognized his straight-nosed face. "Christ, scared me half to death, there! Paul's not around, hey?" John Lennon said. "What the fuck, Ivan told me he'd be back this week! ...Oh, no, wait, or did he say next week? Loosin' me bloody mind," he muttered the last part.

Not wanting to stay long and have this rude boy swear himself into a pit, I crossed the rest of my front yard and starting walking down the street. I had only walked for about five seconds when I heard him shout behind me, "Now just wait a minute, girl!"

I stopped in my place and turned to watch him run up to me. He flashed me a grin and said, "You're that bird who was with Macca at St. Peter's. What did ye say yer name was again?"

Frowning, I replied, "I didn't."

It was John's turn to frown, and he scuffed the heels of his boots against the sidewalk. "Aw, come off it, what did I ever do to you? I just asked for yer name."

Appalled at how he made it seems as if he was completely innocent, I hissed, "You were being that cheeky drunk who barely paid Paul and I any attention, after we came just to watch _your_ band. Not to mention Paul wasn't even going to go, but he came anyways to meet _you._ Fat lot o' good that did 'im! Can I go now?"

John didn't get mad at all, he simply snorted and waved his hand in dismissal. "Yeah, but like you just said, I was drunk. You don't judge people when they're drunk! Let's start that over then. Hullo, mystery bird, I'm John Lennon." He held out his hand for me to shake.

I didn't want to trust this boy at first, and I stared at his hand as if it were infected. But, I decided that everyone deserved a second chance. If he was willing to start over, who was I to deny him? So, I cautiously shook his hand. "Hi, I'm Peggy O'Higgins. Uhm, nice to meet you, I guess."

"O'Higgins? Jesus, is this where all the Irish folk are, in Allerton? Hey, if you're ever short of potatoes, just let me know," John joked, giving me a playful smile. "Kidding, love. So, what, are you Macca's girlfriend or something? How old _are_ you, even?"

He was making me roll my eyes in annoyance, but I decided he wasn't insufferable. We continued to walk as I answered, "_Yes,_ me grandparents came here from Ireland, and there's times when I even slip into an Irish accent, if I'm angry enough. _No_, I'm not Paul's girlfriend, we've been best mates for a while now. We're next-door neighbors. And I just turned fourteen in June."

"_Fourteen?_ Oh, now that won't do. Fifteen, maybe. But fourteen? That's too young fer me, love. I'm afraid it will never work between us," he falsely lamented, putting a hand over his heart. I couldn't hold back a laugh as I lightly swatted at his arm.

"Oh, lay off, John! Why, how old are you?"

"Turning seventeen in October, love. Just had me last year at Quarry Bank High."

"Now off to being a college pudding?"

John let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. "Hell no! If me auntie makes me go to college, then I'd have to go, but not fer long. If anything, maybe that art college not too far from here. I'm terrible at school, and really, can ye see me stuck in college, training to be a doctor or somethin'?" He stopped and held out his arms for me to take a good look at him.

I squinted my eyes, tilted my head to the side, and then scoffed. "No, because there's no way I'd ever let you operate on me!"

He laughed and we continued our walk. This John Lennon character suddenly didn't seem like such a bad person. Yes, maybe he was just a horribly rude drunk. But I did catch that instead of saying "If my mum makes me go to college" or "If my dad makes me go to college," he said his auntie. I didn't want to question why he would consult his aunt instead of his parents, because I had only met him properly a few minutes before.

"So, why were you looking for Paul if you just rudely dismissed him at the church a few weeks back?" I inquired. We were veering off course and no longer going in the direction of George's house. Not that he knew I was going to George's house anyways, but now it had turned into a casual stroll through Liverpool while engaging in a simple conversation.

"I may have been drunk, but I can still hear! I came by to _personally_ ask him to join me band. But since he's not home, I'll ask later. Or have Ivan or maybe Pete tell him." He shrugged his shoulders and pulled out a set of thick-framed glasses, slipping them on. "Listen, I've got to be back home. Me auntie thinks I'm stuck at home tidying up. Stupid chores and things like that she's made me do today."

John did a silly bow, dipping his head low and plastering a goofy grin on his face when he rose back up. I let out a loud laugh and waved to him. "Off with you then, Lennon. Maybe you're not such a tosser after all."

::::::::::::::::::::

I finally arrived at the Harrison's doorstep, and knocked three times. The drunken kiss George and I shared kept replaying in my mind, and I even blinked my eyes several times in an attempt to erase the memory. I didn't know what I had felt when our lips touched. I didn't even know if I liked him more than a friend or not; judging by that funny fluttering feeling I always got around him, I didn't think of him as just a friend. Sure, he was very good-looking, but I wanted to like someone for more than just his face. Oh but he's always so sweet and funny, too. Maybe I did like him for more than just his good looks? Most definitely.

Peter, George's older brother, answered the door. He was already seventeen now, and he was taller than I had remembered him from the first meeting when I was twelve. He obviously looked older, and he didn't seem so skinny now. "Hullo, Peggy, was it?"

I nodded and smiled politely. "Aye, that's me. Hi, Peter. Is George home?"

"He's here. Where's Paul?" he asked. He stuck his head out the door, looking around the street for my friend.

"He's in Yorkshire visiting family. I was wondering if maybe George wanted to go down and get a Coke or something."

Peter frowned and looked back in the house. I heard a pair of giggles, one that definitely belonged to George; the other was a soft, feminine laugh of a young girl. "Sorry, Peggy, he's got his girlfriend over right now. But I'll tell him you stopped by."

My stomach did a sickening flip-flop. Girlfriend? What girlfriend? I couldn't tell why I felt upset, but I asked anyways, "Oh, he's got a girlfriend? That bugger." I let out a casual chuckle, hoping my disappointment didn't show through. "Well I guess I wouldn't have known, since I haven't seen him in a couple weeks."

The older Harrison boy leaned against the frame of the doorway and raised a curious eyebrow at me. "I would've thought he'd have told you and Paul before then. He's been with Iris Caldwell since March."

Now my blood started boiling. _March?_ He's had a bloody girlfriend since March and he went and kissed me last _month_? I was having a mental argument with myself over the matter. That two-timing git! But I soon regretted my negative thoughts. George was drunk, and people do stupid things when they're drunk. I wasn't exactly sober either, so I couldn't pin the blame on George. I didn't have the heart to feel animosity towards such a sweet boy, even if I was feeling hurt.

"Well what do you know," I mumbled, and backed off from the door. "Ta, anyways, Peter. And if it's all the same to you, I'd rather you don't tell George I was here. See you around."

Dejectedly, I made my slow return back to my house. This summer holiday was getting to be increasingly horrible, as any day without my best friend was. I missed Paul and wished he were back home.

"Stupid bloke," I muttered, kicking rocks and leaves and whatever was in my path as I walked. "Leaving me to waste two bloody weeks of summer! I hope he snaps his guitar strings during his trip!"

Just like always, I couldn't stay cross with my best friend for more than ten seconds. I trudged up to my front door, walked in, and ascended the stairs to my room. On my bed sat my blue teddy bear, Flopsy, who was now fading in colour. I hugged him to me tightly and closed my eyes, taking a nap, hoping to wash away the sour events of the day with pleasant dreams.

* * *

_Is anyone shocked? Angry? Sad? In suspense? Then tell me what you thought and felt in a review! :) Constructive criticism is always welcome, by the way!_

_So John's made a better appearance and I didn't make him a complete ass :) How could I, he's my favorite Beatle! Also, does anyone want to take a guess as to who Iris Caldwell is in real history (other than George really did like her when he was fourteen)? I'll give you a hint, her older brother's real name is Alan Caldwell :) Take a guess at what he was more commonly known as!_

_Again, I'm glad people actually read these notes here because you never know when I'm going to put something random or amusing down here, like I love Doctor Who or Would you like a jelly baby? or something like that. Which reminds me, Ringo would like to know, "Do I snore?" _


	8. 7: Tell Me Why You Cry

_Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! :) Easily made my day and makes me thrilled to know people are actually reading this story! So I know a lot of you were upset with George... this chapter might make you even more upset when Peggy gives even more details about that kiss! And just in case some of you didn't catch who Iris Caldwell is the sister of, I will tell you now! She is the younger sister of Alan Caldwell, but you probably know him by his stage name: Rory Storm. And I'm sure you are all very familiar with the drummer from Rory Storm and the Hurricanes... ;) The one who snores like a window-rattler!_

_The first part of this chapter didn't turn out exactly how I wanted it to, but it'll do. Just a bit of background and some character development. If you squint and maybe borrow John's glasses. Once again, tell me if I've made any mistakes or anything like that! I'll try to fix it as best as I can!_

_**ALSO.** Have you noticed how in the previous chapters, a lot of the words used in their speech include words such as "comin'" or "runnin'" and other words where I omit a letter or two to match the Liverpudlian accent. I've decided to minimize that as much as possible for future chapters, starting with this one. I've realized it's a bit harder to read when I word things like that, and although I started it with the intention of not doing it to the point where I'm just exaggerating, I'm just going to put the actual word. The only exceptions would be the occasional "yer" or "fer" or putting "me" instead of "my" and "meself" or "yerself." That's mostly it. I won't go back to the previous chapters and edit them, but just so you know, from now on, I'll try to make it flow easier. Besides, I'm sure you can all hear their voices and accents in your head when you read this anyways :)_

_So I only own the O'Higgins... so far ;) Now I hope you enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

"John said their next show is in a couple of weeks. That'll be my first show with them," Paul informed me one day in early October. He had been practicing with The Quarrymen quite often, usually a few times a week after school. The only reason I was allowed to come and watch was because John remembered me as the "Mystery bird that was a bit of all right."

Most of the rehearsals were held at John's mother's house at 1 Blomfield Road in Garston, Liverpool. Those were the only rehearsals I ever went to, mostly because I wouldn't be the only girl listening to them rehearse. I was accompanied by John's mother; Julia, and his two half-sisters; another Julia and Jacqui.

"That's wonderful!" I praised with a bright smile. We were sitting in the McCartney's front yard, and once again, Paul was plucking out a few chords from songs he had practiced with The Quarrymen. Naturally, I was sketching pictures of him, and drawing a few of the band practicing from memory.

"Yeah," he replied, grinning back at me. "And you'd better be there to watch, Pegs, or I'll never forgive you! Which reminds me, there's rehearsal again today. At John's mother's house this time. Want to come along?"

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the kitchen with Julia Lennon, helping her set snacks on a plate to bring out to the boys in the living room. Julia was always kind to me and was very outspoken, something I believed she had passed down to her son. She was always playing rock and roll records and encouraging the boys with their music. Every time she looked at her son, her eyes twinkled and her face beamed with pride for him. Anyone could tell she loved her son dearly and enjoyed having him around the house.

"Just bring those right in there, I'll be out in a second," she told me brightly, grabbing a pitcher of tea and a set of cups. When I brought the plate of biscuits and other sweets to the living room, I could see John putting a hand over his stomach and mumbling to the others about how he hadn't eaten since earlier that morning. I set them on the tea table in the corner as Julia soon followed with the pitcher and set it down as well. I then sat on the couch, picking up my pencil and sketchpad, resuming my drawing of John and Paul talking to each other at this moment.

Paul and John were chatting about a guitar riff, while Len Garry and Eric Griffiths were quietly practicing a few of their songs together. Julia and Jacqui Dykins sat on the couch beside me, whispering things to each other and letting out the occasional giggle before they looked up at their brother to hear what he had to say next.

"Look, mate, we'll take a break," John said at last, setting his guitar down and reaching for a biscuit from the table. After he took a bite out of it, he waved his biscuit at me, throw crumbs around as he did so, and said, "So, mystery bird, you coming to the show?"

I brushed a few stray biscuit crumbs from my sketchpad, looked up from my artwork and rolled my eyes. "Lennon, don't call me 'bird.' Whenever I hear that term, it makes me think a boy's trying to get a girl. Just call me Peggy."

"But you call me 'Lennon' half the time! I didn't think we were so unfamiliar with each other that you had to use me last name!" he retorted with a coy smile.

Letting out an irritated sigh, though I had to admit I was smiling, I replied, "Call me Peggy, and I'll call you John."

"All right then, Peggy."

"Wonderful, John."

John came over and snatched my sketchpad out of my hands. I let out a cry of protest, while he held it away from me and flipped through it. "Christ, you're good. Maybe I'll be seeing you at that bloody art college!" He looked at some random clothing designs I had drawn and chuckled. "Or, maybe you can design some clothes for us. Some of these dresses though... they need to be shorter, love," he said while wagging his eyebrows suggestively at me.

I stuck out my tongue at him and swiped my sketchbook out of his hands. "I'm not designing raunchy clothing, John! Stylish, not risqué!" I looked over at Paul, who was shrugging and nibbling at a biscuit. He came over to me and nudged me playfully with his shoulder, a gesture I soon returned. "As cheeky as that boy is, I think you guys are brilliant," I told him sincerely.

He offered up an appreciative smile. "Ta. You know, I've been thinking about getting George in this band. You've heard how good he is," he told me. He glanced over at me, expecting me to agree with him.

At the mention of George, I tried to suppress my sudden distaste. "Right. Yeah, he's good," I said plainly.

But it's always impossible to hide my true feelings from my best friend. I noticed that Paul gave me a strange look, and he silently told me with his eyes, "We'll talk about this later."

::::::::::::::::::::

Indeed, we did talk about my reaction to him talking about George as we walked back to my house. It didn't exactly start as a questionnaire, and I wasn't so sure Paul would even bring it up at all. It was nighttime, around nine o'clock when we walked back home, and at first, the only sounds we heard were bugs chirping and the light October breeze.

I cleared my throat and piped up, "Hey, Paul? There's no secrets between us, right?"

He chuckled and shook his head, adjusting the guitar that was strapped and slung around his shoulder, hanging behind him. "Nope, of course not, Pegs."

Nodding, I continued, "Right. So, if you had a girlfriend, you'd _tell_ me, correct?"

Paul looked over at me skeptically, not entirely sure where this conversation was going. "Well, of course I would. Can't exactly keep a big secret like that to meself now, could I?"

"That's true," I confirmed, laughing quietly.

The tall teenager beside me gave me another funny look and asked, "Now what's all this about, Peggy? You haven't got yerself a lad, have you? Cause if you do, you can just come out with it, I won't do a—"

"Oh, gosh, no!" I interrupted, shaking my head fervently and putting my hands up in defense. "No, no, no. No boyfriend. I just...I was only wondering." I adverted my eyes from Paul's and took a sudden interest in the cracks on the sidewalk.

There was no fooling Paul McCartney, especially when he is your best friend. "Listen, Pegs, you just said there's no secrets between us. Now what is it you're keeping from me?" When I remained silent, he let out a sigh. After a long pause, he guessed, "Is it George?"

Startled at how accurate he was, I stumbled over my words while trying to answer. "What! That's—there's no—I mean, I don't—No, just no! What do you mean, 'is it George?' " But my answer immediately gave it away; my cheeks were flaming red, and I looked and felt completely nervous.

He let out an incredibly amused laugh, his eyes widening to the size of fruit tarts. "So it _is_ about George! You fancy him, don't you? That's what this is all about!"

"No! It has nothing to do with him!" I cried defensively, crossing my arms over my chest. Deep inside, I knew he was right. This whole thing _was _about George, and whether or not I was aware of any feelings I had towards the adorable boy, I knew I was thoroughly upset about how he felt he was free to kiss me and lead me on, while he already had a girlfriend. I felt cheated and embarrassed.

"That's not what it looks like. I could tell you liked him, ever since that day a couple years back when we went to get sodas and you kept staring at him. And he seems to like you all right," Paul pointed out. We turned at a street corner and walked under a lamppost, the light illuminating our faces with a yellow-orange glow as we passed it. I prayed that the glow of the light wouldn't make the blush on my cheeks so obvious.

"Of course he does," I scoffed sarcastically, "I'm sure he completely fancies me."

Paul furrowed his eyebrows in frustration and confusion. "You know, Peggy, I just don't understand! Why are you all of a sudden so opposed to George? If you think I'll be angry about it, I'm not! At least it's me mate and not a complete loony! What has he ever done to you?" he demanded. His voice was rising with each word he said, and he said everything with such intensity that it made me snap. I didn't even hesitate when I screamed my answer at him.

"He _kissed_ me, Paul! He kissed me and I kissed him back!"

Now he was stunned, and stopped in his place. Both of us stood there in the dark on an empty street. His eyes were still wide, while mine threatened to overflow with tears. I was breathing heavily now, my chest heaving slightly as I felt the need to cry grow greater and greater within me.

"He—What?" Paul fumbled with his words. "Well, then that's brilliant! I don't get what's the matter, then!"

I shook my head and started to explain, ranting in a near-shouting voice, "_Everything's_ the matter, Paul! On our birthday this past June, when we were all drinking beer and laughing and chatting, and you and Mike were bickering about Elvis and Buddy Holly, Thomas was off in the bushes somewhere, then I was sitting under the tree and George came over to talk to me! We were talking, and then out of nowhere, he kissed me. Right on the lips! It was my first kiss ever! And my god, Paul, it was the _best_ bloody feeling I've ever felt in me whole life!" At this point, I was in tears and shaking slightly.

Paul was clearly at a loss for words, and could only walk over and wrap his arms around me as I trembled and let my tears fall. But I wasn't finished yet. I had to tell Paul what had me so distressed in the first place.

"And after that, he got up and left, and I didn't think too much about if I liked him or not, but it had to mean _something_. After that night, he never mentioned the kiss at all, and I _know_ he didn't just forget it, because we weren't _that_ smashed! I've just been so confused about it all, and when you were in Yorkshire, I was so incredibly bored that I decided to go visit George to see if he wanted to hang out. There I was, feeling that happy, good feeling again and thinking maybe I could ask him what he meant by that kiss and all, or at least get closer to him. Peter answered the door, and I heard giggling from inside the house, and—and—" I was cut off by a loud sob I let out.

Running his hand soothingly over my hair and rubbing my back, Paul tried to gently calm me down. "Shhh, just take deep breaths, love." His voice was calming, but it didn't do anything for me just yet. I still had to finish telling him the worst part of the explanation.

I lifted my head from his now damp shoulder and continued, "He has a girlfriend! A stupid, bloody _girlfriend!_ Peter said he's been with her since March! He kissed me in bloody _June_! Bloody _hell_, Paul!" My body was now wracked with full-blown sobs and I could no longer form coherent words. It was during this explanation that it had finally hit me: I did fancy George Harrison.

I could tell Paul didn't know about his girlfriend either, because his body tensed up and his grip around me tightened. "Oh, Peggy Mae," he said softly, "Don't worry, you don't need a bloke to be happy, love. Shhh. Now you just calm down, this isn't worth crying over. You've always got me at least, hey?"

This caused me to giggle through my weeping, and I nodded my head. He nudged his index finger under my chin and lifted it so I was facing him. He smiled that famous smile that always assured me things would be all right, and he kissed my forehead. "Come 'ead, Pegs, you can spend the night at my place. We haven't had a slumber party in a while, anyways."

When finished our walk all the way back to our houses, I briefly went into mine and informed Thomas that I'd be over at the McCartney's house. His way of telling me "Yes" was to nod his head, pull me into a hug and ruffle my hair into a mess, and then wish me good night. Still, it did bring a smile to my face and I went upstairs to my room. I changed into my silk lavender sleeveless nightgown that came just above my knees. I wasn't shy when it came to Paul; nor was he shy when it came to me. Wearing my nightclothes in front of him wasn't embarrassing at all. I snatched my matching silk robe and gather Flopsy into my arms, walking barefooted back to Paul's house.

Usually when we had sleepovers, Paul would grab an extra comforter from the upstairs closet and set it down on his bedroom floor next to the comforter from his bed, and place two pillows down for us. He did exactly that when I showed up to his room. He sat on the comforters with his back against his bed, strumming a song on his guitar.

"Christ, it feels like that first summer I met you all over again!" I mused with a delighted smile. I sat down on the floor beside him, listening to him quietly play a soft lullaby. "I'm sorry you had to see me cry like that tonight, Paulie. I'm only fourteen and I just cried me eyes out over a stupid boy!"

Paul shot me a knowing look and smiled while raising an eyebrow.

Getting the hint, I rolled my eyes. "Oh, all right. He's _not_ a stupid boy. He's..." I trailed off. I let my mind wander off to thoughts of George, and his perfect face, his devilishly cute smile, his big eyes and constantly raised eyebrows.

"Special?" Paul finished for me.

I nodded. "Something like that. But I guess you're right, I do fancy him. A little bit."

He snorted and set his guitar down on top of his bed. "Well you'd better fancy him! After all that crying and moping you did. Honestly, I don't think I've ever heard you say 'bloody' so many times before!"

"Oh, shurrup, you silly git!" I smacked Paul on the shoulder, trying to look annoyed. Despite my efforts, in the end, we both busted out into loud guffaws, not caring if we woke up the whole house or not.

We both quieted down, and it was silent for a moment. Then, "But you know, I don't mind it at all. I've always got a shoulder for you to cry on."

Tilting my head to rest it on my best friend's shoulder, I wondered what crazy wishing god out there decided I deserved such an amazing friend.

* * *

_You might just want some wine and crackers with the amount of cheese in this chapter. This chapter was mostly exposing Peggy's feelings, so you're at least getting one side of the relationship between her and George right now... and then there's nothing like having a best friend to rant all of your secrets and problems to. We all love having a shoulder to cry on, and since Paul's the "Cute Beatle," I hope this made him cute enough :)_

_Tell me how this chapter made you feel! Bad? Good? Funny? Interesting? Frustrating? Made you grow a third head (where did the second one go?)? Gained the ability to talk to animals? Then please tell me in a review! Constructive criticism is always welcome, I'd love to receive tips on how to make this story better! :) _

_Anyways, can we have our ball back, mister? _


	9. 8: Mama Don't Go

_Hello again! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed :) Every review makes me happy, because I'm glad to know people are reading the story and I love to know what you all think of it!  
This chapter isn't such a chipper one, and it's a bit brief, but it's an important chapter! There's a bit more George/Peggy in this too... just a bit :)_

_Also, just was a warning and a reminder, I will not be here from August 12 to August 21! Meaning there will be no updates in between that time! Sorry about that :( I'll be visiting family on the East coast. When I get back, school starts up again, so there is a good chance I will not update until the first Tuesday of September. I'm sorry if this is disappointing, but I will be writing more chapters and getting more ideas during my trip! :) Also, after this chapter, I will release two more (one on Sunday and one on next Tuesday) before I leave, just to give you a little more to read and reflect on :)_

_I only own the O'Higgins... so far ;) Quite soon, I'll be able to say I own more than the just O'Higgins, but you'll just have to find out who else next week ;) Now I hope you enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

Just as Paul was determined to do, George joined the band in the middle of 1958. He first properly met John on a bus ride late at night, where Paul introduced him and had him audition.

Paul sat next to me near the back of the bus, with John sitting in the very back. He has his legs propped up on the seat in front of him, looking incredibly lazy, and he wore his smug smirk as he watched George nervously shake his leg. George rested John's guitar on his knee in the seat across from us, glancing at me every once in a while. When I gave him a reassuring smile, he returned it and seemed to look less anxious.

"Go on, George," Paul urged with a wave of his hand. "Play 'Raunchy,' you're brilliant at that one, mate."

I could tell George was uneasy under John's criticizing stare, but nevertheless, he fiddled with the pick in his hand, brought it to the strings, and soon the tune flowed out smoothly and perfectly into the night air. I may have had a few resentful feelings towards George, but even I was in awe of how well he played. When I stole a glance over at the Quarrymen's leader, I knew he was impressed too. John's eyebrows were raised, and his head was bopping lightly to the song as he listened intently.

When the song ended, George timidly handed the guitar back to John, awaiting the verdict. When he shot an apprehensive look at me, I quickly adverted my eyes. My heart seemed to beat a little faster whenever he looked my way, and it was all from mixed feelings.

John's lips curled up into an even wider smirk, and he nodded his head languidly. "All right then, George. I'll let you play in our shows, see how you handle that first. Still think yer too bloody young, though," he finally said.

George's face broke out into a relieved grin, and he let out a breath I hadn't even noticed he was holding. "Ta, John, really!"

From then on, George would tag along with Paul to practice, and I continued to watch most of them, and attended their live performances with Thomas and Mike. Mike naturally had his camera handy and took pictures of them before, during, and after their shows. We usually ended up running into John's mother, Julia, at a lot of their shows as well. By then they were playing shows in The Carven Club, which was a small and stuffy brick building that was originally meant for jazz bands. However with the huge skiffle craze booming all over Merseyside, they allowed skiffle bands to perform as well.

I began to put together a scrapbook of the pictures Mike took of The Quarrymen. "I'm too lazy to actually arrange them, so I'll take them and give them to you to put together," he told me.

One day in early spring, I was sorting out the pictures in chronological order, starting with Paul's first performance with The Quarrymen last October. I was sitting out in Paul's small backyard, while Paul sat in the grass beside me playing his guitar. Mike had his camera and was taking photos of his brother, and occasionally walking out to the front yard to photograph his father gardening.

"Look, Paulie," I called to him, holding up a few photos, "these are from your first show." I handed them to him as he set down his guitar, and saw his face light up at the memories.

"I was nervous for me life that night!" he commented and handed them back to me. "Still, I'm glad you showed up to that one. But look at that picture there! What is that? Mike cut off our heads in that one! Brother of mine really knows how to waste film." Paul held up a blurry photo that was slanted and only caught the band from their torso down.

I giggled and snatched it back from him, setting it beside the others in the scrapbook. "Oh, hush, he's learning. It's hard to stay still in such a large crowd, anyways. And he's only, what, fourteen now?"

Paul nodded and resumed his guitar playing. "Yeah. Christ, our birthdays are coming up, aren't they?"

"Right. In a couple of months, now. Mum insists we have the party at my house this year, since last year both of us sort of skipped out on it," I told him, thinking of that night when we stole bottles of alcohol from our cupboards.

Paul snickered at the memory, and began plucking out a song he told me he was writing and still working on. Lately, The Quarrymen had been practicing more and more at Paul's house instead of John's mother's house, and I couldn't understand why. I didn't mind them practicing so close, but I knew that Jim McCartney didn't like John so much. Julia Lennon loved rock and roll and adored listening to their music, so why would they hold rehearsals here instead now?

"Hey, Paul? How come the lads are coming over to practice here instead of Julia's?" I inquired. I closed the scrapbook, stuffing the photos inside of it, when I noticed Paul had abruptly stopped playing. "Paul?"

For a moment he hesitated, before he began, "Well, John's been having problems at home. Got in a bit of a row with his mum and auntie not too long ago."

"But why does he live with his auntie instead of his own mother?"

Paul set down his guitar once again, and explained John's story to me, but I could tell there were even parts of the story he didn't even know. Apparently John's father left him when he was a child, and his mother was somewhat unstable, leaving him in the custody of his aunt. He saw his mother again when he was around eleven years old, and was now only beginning to reconnect with her and get to know her.

"His aunt, Mimi he calls her, is a strict woman. John's just found out most of the story as to why he even lives with her, so now he's decided to change rehearsals to my house," he finished.

There was no doubt Julia Lennon was a kind and fun-loving woman, but I couldn't believe how broken she had left her son. There was no wonder as to why John was so cynical, sarcastic, and at sometimes cold with his dry humor. I was glad to hear that he was getting to know her and hoped that maybe John would soften up a bit after spending more time with her.

The day I turned fifteen, and Paul sixteen, I insisted we stay away from any alcoholic beverage and keep it simple. Paul agreed, and we hosted a small party at my house, with my parents and brother present, along with the McCartneys. We shared a birthday cake, and Mike stole many pictures of us blowing out the candles together. It wasn't showy at all, but I was happy that day, and was thrilled at the package Carolyn had sent me. She wrote me a letter about her experiences in New York and how she was faring, and sent me two dresses as a present. In her letter, she also said,

_"New York's wonderful, Peggy! It's like a gigantic Liverpool here! Oh, but don't worry, I've still got the scouser accent. Anyways, I've got a flat here and a flat-mate, she's just lovely. Her name's Betty. Listen, if you ever want to pop down for a visit, just write me and we'll get it all arranged! I'd love to see you again, I miss you! Give Mum, Dad, and Thomas my love."_

I couldn't help from grinning while I read the letter. I did miss my sister, and thought one day I might actually take her up on her offer. I just didn't know that this happiness was so short-lived.

Around nine-thirty on the evening of July 15th, 1958, Paul and John sat in his living room as John played him a song he had just written. I was sitting on the couch beside them, reading the back of a Little Richard record sleeve that Paul had lying around. I was enjoying the song John had written, since it was so upbeat and catchy, even if he hadn't worked out the lyrics to it yet. I could tell by the smile on Paul's face that he liked it as well.

That was when the phone rang. I went to answer it, and could barely understand what the blubbering voice was choking out into the receiver. It was an older woman's voice, and I was about to ask her to repeat the message until I heard her cry out hysterically, "Julia's dead! My god, that _murderer!_ John's mother is _dead._"

My fingers suddenly went numb and dropped the phone with a loud clash to the floor. My mind hardly registered Paul and John rushing into the room, hounding me with questions. This couldn't happen, I thought, not to John. Not when he needed her most. Not another life lost too soon.

"John," I croaked when I finally found my voice. I looked up at him and shook my head as tears began to slide down my pale cheeks. "She's—she's been—I'm so sorry, she—"

The Teddy Boy's face was white as a sheet, and he instantly knew what was wrong. He didn't even bother to get his guitar as he dashed out the door, anger and fear in his eyes.

::::::::::::::::::::

The funeral service was heart wrenching, and John never dared once to look at the fresh grave. Instead he buried his head in the lap of an older woman, whom I guessed to be his aunt Mimi. Paul stood beside me, and on the other side of me was George, accompanied by the rest of The Quarrymen. Some of them were wiping away their own tears, while Paul stood watching as the last of the dirt was sprinkled over the grave. I tried my best to keep from crying, but I couldn't help it and the tears came once again. Julia Lennon was so beautiful. She was so young, so full of life, and I believed her to be something close to John's savior. It was no secret that John was traumatized from a childhood without her, and I wanted things to get better for him. His mother, with her flowing hair and light, comforting smile would have been his cure. She'd never smile again, never laugh or cry again, never make biscuits during rehearsal. She'd never say good-bye to John, or give him one last hug and kiss. She would never truly get to know her own son.

I nearly broke down when I looked over and saw John, looking so vulnerable, dejected, and broken. He had the same crushed look that Paul had when his mother died two years ago. I hated seeing that look, like someone had sucked all of the life out of him.

I thought Paul would wrap his arms around me like always and try to calm me down. But I understood he was too wound up in his own thoughts, and I could tell he was thinking of his own mother's death. This similarity between Paul and John would later bring them together and help them empathize with each other.

Surprisingly enough, a pair of arms did wrap themselves around me, pulling me tightly against their chest, but when I looked over at Paul, his arms were at his side and his face was panged with sorrow as he watched on. At that moment, however, I could care less about who was holding me, because after I realized it wasn't Paul, their arms felt so comforting that it didn't matter anymore. I turned and cried into that person's shoulder. As my body trembled and shook with sobs, the person holding me began to softly stroke my hair and rub my back, occasionally whispering "Shhh" or gently rocking me back and forth. I eased up into their warm embrace and found that my arms had snaked their way around the person's torso, finding reassurance in the hold. Whoever I was hugging, they had a very slim waist, but was so warm and comforting.

Soon the service was over, and a voice I soon recognized whispered to me, "We've got to go now, Peggy. Come 'ead."

I looked up into the person's face for the first time and realized I had been crying into George Harrison's arms this whole time. We stood like that, staring into each other's eyes for what seemed like an eternity. George's face showed no emotion, but his deep brown eyes said otherwise. He lifted a hand to my cheek and delicately brushed away the tears with his thumb, never breaking his enchanting gaze.

His touch brought me back to reality and startled, I turned my head to tear my eyes away from his. Pulling myself away from his grip, I mumbled something about finding Paul walked away briskly. I didn't look back, afraid that I might have offended George, and ran off after my friend.

Paul and I walked back home, neither of us saying a word. But the silence wasn't awkward or tense at all. In fact, it was well needed and we were too caught up in our thoughts to hold a conversation in the first place. I was upset to know that John would never find the love he needed from his mother, and I didn't think he'd ever get over the trauma of his mother's death.

Then my thoughts drifted over to George, though I felt guilty for thinking about him at a time like this. George was there to comfort me today, and that was strange to me. His brother even said he had a girlfriend, so why would he even bother? But then again, it could have just been a friendly gestured. I soon dismissed it as just that and barely mumbled a good-bye to Paul as I walked into my house and wearily collapsed on my bed.

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_Feeling sad? Angry? Moody? Delighted by actual George/Peggy stuff going on? Then please tell me in a review! :) Constructive criticism is always welcome! And I love receiving reviews, as I have said many times, and they motivate me to write more!_

_I personally was always a bit glum about the death of Julia Lennon. Just think, if she were alive, how different would John and The Beatles have been? We will never know, unless I manage to steal a TARDIS one day...  
I know the actual funeral wasn't a very long scene, but I don't like funerals, and I don't think many of you like them either. :( Anyways, two more chapters before I leave, so please stay tuned!  
Now, "What filthy ways are these?" _


	10. 9: Well I Talk About Boys Now

_Hello, and thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! :) Here is the next chapter, as promised! As you might have read from the last chapter, this Tuesday is the last day I'll be updating for this month, because I won't be here for a little while and school starts up as soon as I get back from my trip. I don't even want to think about jet lag...  
_

_I'm so glad I finally get to say this next bit! I only own the O'Higgins, Larry Peterson, and Charlie Norwood! More characters for you guys! So now I hope you enjoy! Cause this chapter is where things get a bit tense... :)_

_-M _

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School was never something I enjoyed, and it wasn't exactly Paul's cup of tea either. I had just started Year 11 that September, and Paul was in his first year of the Sixth form. Luckily, our schools were across the street from each other, so we would always see each other after school. However, the girls' school let out a whole half-hour earlier than the boys. It was meant to keep the boys from mingling with the girls after school, but I stayed anyways to wait for Paul.

It was the first week of October, and the winds were starting to get colder during this time. I was sitting on a bench on the street beside the boy's school—Liverpool Institute High School for Boys—waiting for Paul and George, with whom I was on better terms now. Sometimes we would walk home along with Mike, but most days he would go off with his friends and just the three of us would go together. Thomas was no longer in school, because he was a dropout. It had upset my parents at first, but he got a job at a factory that his friend's father owned. Just like us, he hated school, but he must have despised it more than us if he left school.

School had let out for him not ten minutes ago, and Paul hadn't emerged from the crowd of boys yet. I groaned and tapped my foot impatiently, doing such absurd things like counting the trees lining the street or the amount of boys wearing winklepickers to keep me occupied. I counted twenty-three winklepickers, if it was in your interest.

Often, boys from the school would come talk to me if Paul and George hadn't shown up yet. This was mostly because all of the girls left and they weren't used to seeing very many of them after school. Time and time again, a random boy would approach me and try to strike up a conversation. Much like today.

A tall boy with slicked-back brown hair and a cancer stick in his mouth walked up to me, looking cocky and arrogant. He didn't look much like the Teddy Boys I was used to hanging around (by Teds, I usually just mean The Quarrymen and any of their other acquaintances), and he seemed like a schoolboy trying to be dangerous.

"Now, what's a pretty girl like you waiting around here for?" he asked in a smooth voice. He took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke out. Unfortunately for me, the wind was blowing towards me and I got a face full of smoke.

I narrowed my eyes. Most boys who talked to me were kind and just started casual conversations. This one was actually trying to win me over, which disgusted me from the start. "None of yer business."

He frowned and flicked his cigarette to the floor, stubbing it out with his heel. "Fair enough. I'm Larry Peterson, by the way. And you are...?"

There was no way this overconfident jerk was getting my real name. "Amelia Doyle."

His frown was now a pleased grin. "Lovely name. So, how old are you, Miss Amelia?"

I rolled my eyes, looking off at something to the side and answered, "Just turned fifteen."

"Oh, really now? Well that's perfect, I just turned eighteen. Fancy going to the pictures this Friday?"

I spun my head around and made a face. "_Honestly_? Eighteen? What the bloody hell, you're too old fer me, Christ, even _John_ said that, and usually this is the only thing John's right about these days. And _no_, you tosser, I'm not going anywhere with you."

Oh. That didn't sit too well with him. His eyes burned with fury and he growled, "Look, I usually get what I want. And I _want_ you to come to the pictures with me!"

All of a sudden, I heard an unfamiliar voice to the right of me exclaim, "Hey! Larry! You'd better get back over here, your mates just took off with your bag and wallet and everything!"

Larry snapped his attention to the stairs, his eyes widening as he cried out, "They _what?_" He immediately darted in the other direction, running off into the crowd of boys still exiting the school.

When I looked back at the stairs, I saw who shouted to Larry. It was a tall boy around my age, and he was staring at me. He had bright blue eyes, a much bolder shade than mine, and dark blonde hair that was cut into a duck's ass haircut, much like John's. It took me a while to realize he was smiling shyly at me, and I couldn't help but smile back. From the way he glanced and Larry running off through the crowd and passed the school, I could tell he was bluffing about his mates. I was about to go over to the stairs and thank him for getting rid of him, when:

"Pegs! Peggy!"

My eyes adverted over to the struggling figure that was Paul. He was pushing his way through the horde of boys, George and Mike following close behind, and finally leapt over the railing of the stairway and ran up to me, panting slightly. George showed up a few seconds later, catching his breath as well. Mike followed close behind, but waved us off when a friend of his called him and he ran off with a group of his mates.

"Sorry, Pegs," Paul apologized, "but this kid here got in trouble for doodling guitars all over his books, so I had to wait for him a bit." George shrugged his shoulders sheepishly in reply and nodded his head.

I looked back over at the stairs, looking for the tall blonde boy, but he was gone. I let out a disappointed sigh and stood. "No worries, I was just being harassed by another loony. Come on, lads, let's get to the bus."

Paul and George exchanged confused glances, and I heard Paul say, "What's got you so down?"

Looking over at my best friend, I wasn't sure if I should say it in front of George, but I blurted out, "This tall blonde bloke with these brilliant blue eyes over on the stairs earlier; he was staring at me and smiling at me, and he drove that stupid loony bloke away for me."

George scoffed at this. "Tall blonde bloke? Better not be that tosser Charlie Norwood."

My ears perked up at the mention of his name. "Charlie Norwood? Who's he?"

"He's a slick git! Bloody wanker came in my class to borrow something fer his teacher, saw me sleeping and told the bloody teacher on me. Plus, he thinks he's so bloody great and fantastic, from a rich family and all that shite," George muttered bitterly, clearly showing his dislike for this Charlie person.

This continued for a couple of weeks after school. I would wait on the bench for Paul and George, and that blonde boy, possibly Charlie Norwood, would stare at me and smile from the stairs before heading in the opposite direction with a few of his other friends. I would always smile back, and as soon as he was gone, Paul and George would show up. We would take the bus home and I'd always tell them that I saw the blonde boy again. Paul usually showed a positive reaction and chuckled when I mentioned the boy, while George would scowl and keep mumbling on about how he was "a right wanker."

A couple more weeks went by, and I was sitting with Paul and George at a local diner, eating fish and chips and drinking Cokes. It was a dreary Saturday afternoon, and lately things had been slow for The Quarrymen. Ever since Julia Lennon's death, John hadn't called a rehearsal for the band at all, and he had lost interest in playing guitar. Paul would visit him every few days, and always come back telling me that John was still depressed about his mother's death.

That's why I was surprised when all of a sudden, Paul piped up, "You know, we're going to be playing shows again. Every other Friday." He sipped at his Coke while his eyes looked at me, awaiting my reply.

Naturally, I broke out into a relieved grin. "That's wonderful! Christ, I was afraid it was the end of The Quarrymen! Well, where are you guys playing at?"

"Some art school dances," George informed, "John told us the other day."

So The Quarrymen were back to performing, and I would watch their rehearsals at Paul's house again. John seemed to be in higher spirits, and he resumed his dry humor with us. He also continued his song writing with Paul, showing him new ideas and collaborating.

In December we had winter holiday, something we were all glad about. No school meant we could relax and a huge weight was lifted from our shoulders. I, however, was slightly disappointed that I wouldn't see that blonde boy after school anymore.

The first week of winter holiday, I was out one night getting cranberries and a bag of sugar from the grocery store. Mum liked to make cranberry sauce along with the Christmas turkey. I, on the other hand, thought it was repulsive with turkey and would rather eat it when it was spread over toast. Normally I would drag Paul or Mike or Thomas along with me to go shopping, but Thomas insisted it was a girl's thing to do, a comment that earned him a smack in the jaw from me. I didn't bother asking Paul or Mike after that and went by myself.

I had just grabbed the bag of sugar, struggling to balance it in my arms along with the two bags of cranberries when I spun around and came face to face with the blonde boy from the school stairs.

"Hullo there," he said with a pleasant smile.

Still a bit surprised, I simply breathed out, quite stupidly, "Oh, uhm, hi."

He only had a carton of eggs in his hands, but still held out his hand. "Would you like me to help you with those? Seems like you've got a bit of a handful, there."

He took the two bags of cranberries, and I held the one bag of sugar, my arms feeling quite relieved. "Oh, ta," I said with an appreciative smile.

"No problem. I'm Charlie, by the way."

"I'm Peggy," I replied. It was only then that I realized this boy didn't have a scouser accent at all. He sounded more like he was from London. It almost reminded me of the way my sister Carolyn would talk, or attempt to, anyways. "You're that boy from the boy's school across the street, right? Everyday on the stairs? The one got rid of that creepy boy?"

I could see his cheeks reddening and he answered, "Right, that's me. You're always waiting on the bench after school."

I nodded as we both made our way to the cash register, waiting in line. "Yeah, I wait fer me mates there. They go to the boy's school too."

"Oh really? What are their names? Chance I might know them."

I inwardly chuckled, not sure if he knew how much George disliked them. "Paul McCartney and George Harrison. Know them? George is in my year, Year 11, and Paul's a year ahead."

His face lit up with recognition and he said, "I've heard of Paul, he's the one in that skiffle group, isn't he?"

"Well, they both are, actually. They're in The Quarrymen."

"Hmm," he pondered, "George Harrison, though, doesn't ring a bell. Maybe because he's a year under me."

"Well," I began with a coy smile, "from what he's told me, you're the one who caught him sleeping in class when you came to deliver something to his teacher."

Charlie's face was now the color of a tomato and he shyly shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, that lad. Well, I didn't mean it much harm, really. Tell him I'm sorry?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Don't worry, it's no big deal."

Charlie insisted he pay for my groceries, something I protested to greatly, but nevertheless, he was persistent. A few minutes later, we were both outside the grocery store walking back home. He offered to escort me back home, because he felt "young girls shouldn't walk back alone in the dark." We walked back to my house, making small talk and even talked a bit about music. He didn't know much about the skiffle scene, but then again, he didn't look like a rough Teddy Boy either. He told me he enjoyed hearing Elvis and Chuck Berry on the radio, but never really went out to clubs here in Merseyside to listen to it live. I found out he moved here from London a couple years ago to live with his aunt, and his parents and two brothers still lived in London.

Soon we were outside of my house, and it was time for us to part ways. I stood outside the small gate of my front yard, not sure whether I should hug him or just thank him and go in.

"Thanks again for paying for me stuff," I thanked. The air was getting cold and I hugged my sweater closer to my body for warmth.

"Don't mention it," he said with a grin. "Now, I know it's cold, so I won't keep you much longer, but, uhhm.." he trailed, looking briefly down at his boots before plucking up some courage and asking, "Would you mind going out with me this Friday? Maybe go to the pictures?"

My eyes widened. "Like... a date?"

He let out a nervous chuckle and nodded his head. "Yeah, a date. Will you go out on a date with me?"

I hardly knew this boy, but he seemed sweet and gentlemanly enough. I also desperately wanted something or someone to keep my mind off of my desire for George, since for the time being, it was clear George didn't fancy me at all and it was fruitless to keep harboring feelings for him. So I leaned forward and got on my tippy toes, kissing his cheek. "Of course, Charlie. Pick me up around seven this Friday?"

His cheeks were once again bright red. "Right! I'll see you this Friday then. And now I bid you good night, Miss Peggy," he said in a joking tone.

I giggled. "G'night, Charlie."

I watched Charlie walk back to his house, waving until he was out of sight. When I turned to walk back into my house, my eyes were met with a bright light flickering and flashing at me. I had to shield my eyes before I could figure out where it was coming from. It was coming from Paul's bedroom window.

Groaning, I rushed into my house, setting the cranberries and sugar on the kitchen counter, then went to my back yard, climbing over the fence and into Paul's back yard, where I had access to the back door. However, I didn't need to use the door, because Paul was sitting in the grass in his back yard already, flashlight in hand.

"Jesus, Paulie, we haven't signaled each other with flashlights in a while," I commented, pointing to the large flashlight in his hand.

He rolled his eyes and asked, "Was that the Norwood bloke walking you home?"

So Paul did see me with him. I nodded my head. "Yeah, I ran into him at the store and he offered to walk me home. Oh! And he asked me to go out with him to the movies on Friday."

"A _date_? You're going on a _date_ with him? What about George? Don't you fancy him anymore?"

My eyes flashed with a subtle hint of anger and I replied hotly, "Well, George doesn't fancy me at all, and even if he did, he's not showing it. I can't jus sit around and wait for him forever, can I? I'm going to move on."

"But you still fancy George. And you're afraid of letting it show," Paul pointed out quietly.

Once again, there was no hiding anything from my best friend. I could only nod and hug him. "George is different. I won't deny that. But I want to be happy, so please be happy for me?"

Paul sighed and hugged me back. "Fine, fine, Peggy Sue," he said with a grin. This past September, Buddy Holly's new album came out, with a song called Peggy Sue. Ever since then, Paul would call me that now and then instead of Pegs or Peggy Mae.

"I'm telling you, that Buddy Holly bloke _is_ better than Elvis!"

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_I like Buddy Holly better than Elvis... sorry if that offended anyone! Now, how are you feeling about this chapter? How do you feel about Charlie? (Larry was only supposed to be in that once scene, but, eh, who knows, I might bring him back.) Tell me how you felt in a review! Express your thoughts! I like hearing them :)_

_So now that there's Charlie in the picture... any predictions on how George is going to take this? Assuming he likes Peggy, of course... ;)_

_Boys, are you buzzing?_


	11. 10: I Wanna Be Your Man

_Thanks again to all who reviewed! :) This is the last chapter until September! Sorry if that disappoints anyone, but I promise I'll start up again as soon as I can! Now I actually did get a bit of positive feedback about Charlie Norwood (Oh and it was the strangest thing, on Friday I was at a party and was talking to a guy who looked a lot like how I described Charlie to look and act! It was pretty trippy), so I'm glad no one's trying to rip his throat out yet :) except maybe George, of course. _

_I only own the O'Higgins and Charlie Norwood and any other fictional character in this story! Now I hope you enjoy! :)_

_-M_

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"_You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain, too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will, but what a thrill, goodness gracious great balls of fire!_"

"That's the wrong chord, love!" John called from the couch as he munched on fish and chips. When I shot him a glare, he only waved his greasy fingers carelessly at me.

Paul, John and I were in the McCartney's living room the same Friday Charlie was coming to pick me up and take me to the pictures. John had called a last-minute rehearsal, and George unfortunately couldn't come over until later. That left John and Paul to work out some songs together, which was brilliant because they were such an amazing songwriting duo, always pushing each other to do better and giving each other new and better ideas. While the both of them took a break and were eating fish and chips, I was seated at the piano, figuring out a popular Jerry Lee Lewis song called "Great Balls of Fire."

Paul came over to the piano, wiped the slimy grease from his fingers on his pant legs, and motioned for me to scoot over on the piano bench. "It's like this. Watch the chords I play." His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, playing the same chords I had, but he suddenly changed it up, and it sounded better than how I had played it.

"Oh, geroff, you show off!" I joked, shoving him so he fell to the floor. John erupted into laughter at this and nearly choked on a piece of fish.

The younger male stuck his tongue out at me, then sat back down on the couch to resume eating his food. "So, Peggy Sue, what time is Charlie coming by to pick you up?"

I was in the middle of quietly playing the chords and notes he showed me when I answered, "Around seven, should be."

That's when John tossed a chip at me, smacking me in the back of the head. "What, Peggy Sue here is going on a date with some random bloke? But I thought you fancied George, love!"

My eyes widened and I immediately spun around in alarm, looking back and forth between John and Paul. However, the younger Ted looked just about as appalled as I did, and he threw his hands up in defense. "Hey, quit looking at me! I didn't tell him anything, I swear!"

But John just waved his hand at us as if we were being silly. "Look, with me eyesight, I'm blind to lots of stuff. Hell, I can't tell if you're frowning or smiling at me right now, Peggy. But that's cause you're all the way over there and I'm _bloody_ shortsighted—"

"Watch yer tongue, John," I warned, though I more said it out of habit than actual concern.

"Right, right. Anyways, Macca didn't have to tell me anything; I already knew by the way you were looking at George when we rehearsed. Giving the boy those longing eyes and all that rubbish," he finished with a nod. He raised his eyebrows at me, as if waiting for me to confirm it. Paul was at his side, looking confused and mouthing the word "Macca" to himself and glancing at John.

Seeing that he already knew, I didn't find the need to hide it anymore. "What, and now you're suddenly a love expert? So what if I fancy George? He's already got himself a girlfriend, so I think I'd be better off moving on. Besides, Charlie's very kind and gentlemanly. He's from London," I told him.

John snorted at this. "_London?_ Is he one of those college puddings with that posh accent and snobby attitude?"

"What? John, he isn't snobbish one bit!" I countered, my temper starting to flare. Why was it that they seemed so surprised that Charlie would ask me out on a date?

"Look, I'm not trying to say you shouldn't go," John told me in a calmer voice, "but I'm just saying, we're scousers. We're born and raised in The Pool, tough and all that. You've seen us do somebody up without so much as a thought, and we're not a lot anyone should get into lumbers with. Not just us blokes, but the girls, too. Yer tough yerself, Peggy, and this Charlie lad's a softie."

Paul and I were both surprised to hear this out of John, though I knew he was telling the truth. Liverpool was a rough place to grow up in, and once you were a scouser, you were in brawls and you didn't take nonsense from anyone, especially from teachers. I couldn't imagine why Charlie would want to move from the nice, glorious streets of London to the dingy port city of Liverpool.

I offered John a light smile and came over to sit next to him. "Aw, just admit it, John. You're a softie yourself! Getting all worried about me like that, I'm really touched." When he scowled, I hugged him lightly and said, "But like you just told me, I'm tough. If things don't go right, I can handle it meself, hey?"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," John mumbled. All of a sudden, his eyes widened and he turned to face me. "Cor, did you really just tell me that George—_our George_—has got himself a _girl?_"

::::::::::::::::::::

I had left Paul's house a couple hours before seven, to take a shower and get ready. I only applied light eye make-up from a set that Carolyn sent me last Christmas. I didn't want to get too dressed up, so I wore a casual but cute pale blue sleeveless dress that came just past my knees, with high heels and a black sweater over the dress. I wasn't very stylish when it came to my hair, but it already had natural waves and light curls, so I simply swept it to the side and tied it in a low side ponytail with a red plaid bow. I didn't have bangs, but a few strands of shorter hair came around to frame my face.

When I walked downstairs from my room and into the living room, my father was reading the paper and Thomas were there listening to the radio. My father glanced up from his newspaper, took one look at me and broke out into a proud grin. He rose from his seat and held his arms out to me. I took hold of his hands, and he twirled me around, studying my new look. His hearty laugh confirmed his approval, and soon both of us were giggling with joy.

"Well! Never thought I'd see me little girl so grown up! You're just an angel, darling, and the most beautiful girl in the world. That lad coming to pick you up soon?" I loved seeing my father smile, and as he got older, more wrinkles came to bunch around his mouth and eyes. But it was a pleasant sight for me, because he looked so delighted.

"Half an hour now," I replied, pulling away from my father and checking the clock on the wall. Thomas came over to inspect me, before giving an approving nod. "What? Does my dress look bad?"

"Well, no," he said hesitantly, "it's just strange to see you with make-up on! Christ, have you ever even worn it before?"

Truthfully, it was the first time I had ever worn make-up, and I was constantly trying not to rub my eyes or blink too hard. "Aye, thought I'd give it a go."

Thomas shuffled his feet a bit, looking down at them before looking me in the eye. He was much taller than I was, about the same height as Paul. "Look, I know I'm supposed to give your date a whole list of things he can't do and things like that, but you can take care of yourself, right?"

Rolling my eyes, I replied, "'Course, Thomas. I can take care of meself."

Thomas wasn't always a very protective figure towards me. Sure he cared about my safety and all of those things, but he wasn't worried when it came to me and other boys, or me going out somewhere by myself, nothing like that. He was very laid back and felt I was capable of fending for myself, in which he was right.

I walked outside, thinking I could get Paul and John's opinion on how I looked quickly before Charlie showed up, when I saw Paul walking up to my doorstep. He saw me and raised his eyebrows, allowing a genuine smile to grace his lips.

"Excuse me, have you seen a girl name Peggy Mae? She's about your height, with brilliant pale eyes, and the same light brown hair, and she's got this really good-looking lad for a best friend, his name's James, I believe," Paul teased as he pretended to look around for me.

I rolled my eyes and smacked his arm. "Shurrup, Paul, and tell me honestly; how do I look?" I spun around for him with my arms out, feeling my dress fan out slightly and whirl around in the breeze, settling down as I stopped. I beamed and waited for his response.

He pursed his lips, before breaking out into a wide grin and said, "I was about to throw a funny comment at you, but quite honestly, you're gorgeous, Pegs. Really beautiful." He came over and tapped my nose.

Blushing, I asked in a small voice, "Do you really think so? I mean, I've never gone out on a date before, and I just wanted to look good. I even used make-up for the first time!" It realized it was the first time Paul had ever told me I was beautiful or anything of that sort. It made me glad that my best friend was a boy; that way I knew his opinion on this matter was sincere.

Paul nodded and put his arm around my shoulders. "Of course, Peggy! I'd never lie to you. Love the make-up too, by the way, makes your eyes glow. But that's not why I came here!" He narrowed his eyes at me, as if trying to intimidate me. "I'm here to lay some ground rules for you and Charlie!"

Dumbfounded, I repeated, "Ground rules? What are you talking about, mate?"

"Ground rules! Things you can and can't do. For example—and this is a real big one—_no_ sex with him! You hardly know him, and just the thought of it is right disgusting," he continued, making gagging noises and sticking out his tongue in repulsion.

I felt my face heating up, feeling embarrassed that Paul even brought that up. I wasn't intending on any of that to happen, anyways.

"But Paulie, you nearly shagged that girl Layla down the street when you went over to help her baby-sit," I countered bluntly.

He sputtered, obviously feeling a bit ashamed of that. A year ago, Paul took an interest in this older girl named Layla, and went over to help her baby-sit a couple of kids one time. Apparently one thing led to another, and just before anything too serious could happen, they heard the front door opening, signaling the return of the children's parents, and they quickly ended it before the parents could notice.

"Well, uhhm—that's cause—oh, come _'ead_, that's different! It's your first date, and there will be _no_ naughty things going on, hey? Next, don't go back to his house or a mate's flat or anything! Cause that will lead to shagging! No getting too touchy-feely, no extensive snogging, because who knows where posh London blokes put their mouths! Oh! And don't go to the loo with him, because we _all_ know what ha—" Paul abruptly stopped when he realized I was laughing hysterically. "Calm down, girl! This isn't funny!"

"Oh, but it is, Paul!" I gasped, trying to suck in a breath of air, as I laughed harder than I ever have in a long time. "Christ, you'd think you were me mum or brother or something! Are you going to tell Charlie what time to have me home by, too?"

Paul rubbed the back of his neck while looking down at his shoes, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. "I—well, Pegs, yer me best mate, and just like a sister to me. I'm just shocked, really, at how much we've grown now. You're going on a _date_, you're all dressed up and looking wonderful, and now some random boy is going to be here any minute now to whisk you away and charm you, or whatever, and I'm just trying to take it all in!" He gave me a lazy shrug. "Just have a good time, hey?"

I leaned over to give Paul a big hug. "Paulie, you're the best mate I could ever ask for. Even when you're worrying like me mum!" He laughed at that, and returned the hug.

I heard a door open and close, then footsteps coming our way. I turned my head from the embrace and saw George walking up to us, waving. "Having a bit of a heart-to-heart, are we?" he said with a crooked grin.

"A bit," I replied, pulling away from Paul. I suddenly felt self-conscious around George and tried to cover up my face by looking away and pretending to brush stray strands of hair away. "When did you get here?"

"A couple of hours ago."

Paul clarified, "Just after you left to get ready, actually." He then turned to the boy. "What is it, George?"

George shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, and replied, "Nothing, really. Just wondering what you were up to." It was then that he finally took a good look at me, and his eyes widened. His eyes trailed up from my dress, to my face, before he stuttered out, "Ch-Christ, Peggy! You look—wow."

Deep inside, I was quite pleased that I had coaxed this reaction out of George, and in truth it did make me blush. I knew Paul was smirking because I could see it from out of the corner of my eye. It was a smirk that practically said, "Told you he fancied you!" But I dismissed it and joked, "What? I hope I don't look _too _hideous, George."

"No! No, not at all!" George said all too quickly, inspecting me once again. His face seemed to turn pink, but in the moonlight I wasn't so sure. "I meant it in a really good way. You know, because it all just—well what I meant was—it's just you're so—uhhmm..." George was at a complete loss for words, and I was curious as to what he was going to say.

But he never did get to finish his thought, because suddenly a voice called to me from behind, "Peggy! Is that you?"

I spun around and saw Charlie walking up to me quickly. He had on a casual cream coloured suit jacket and dark slacks. Just like George, his eyes widened when he saw me, and his cheeks were tinted red. "Blimey, Peggy, you look absolutely beautiful. Stunning, really, it's breathtaking."

I giggled and thanked him. That was when Paul and George immediately showed up at my side. Paul looked stern, like he was trying to intimidate Charlie and size him up, while George looked somewhat dejected. "Hello, Charlie, I'm Paul." Paul stuck out his hand for him to shake, in which he took.

"McCartney, right? I've seen you before," Charlie said. "I'm Charlie Norwood." I could tell he was confused as to why I had two boys hovering over me protectively, and he looked at me as if looking for answers.

Paul beat me to it. "Right, well you make sure you look after her, hey? Not funny business, either!" Charlie nodded and promised, still wondering why Paul was the one to say all of this.

As Paul said this, George whispered to me in an agitated voice, "Wait, _this_ is why you're all dressed up? You're going on a _bloody_ _date_ with this wanker?

I narrowed my eyes and hissed, "George, stop it. Charlie asked me on a simple date, and that's it. You really need to get over your hatred for him."

"_Peggy_, don't do it! He's not right for you. You can't go out with him, please, just listen to me. Jesus, why didn't you _tell_ me you were going with him?" George's eyes appeared almost enraged, and he was practically pleading at this point. His voice went from disturbed to hurt, and I almost called off the date when I saw the look on his face, until I suddenly remembered a sobering fact.

"Why did you tell me you had a bloody _girlfriend?_" I fired back. I didn't care if Paul and Charlie were staring at me, I was furious. How dare George insult my date and tell me what to do and what not to do? I knew I was still hurt about him having a girlfriend and him kissing me that night, and this didn't help at all.

George looked completely shock and taken aback. "You.. how did.. what?"

"Forget it," I muttered, and went over to hug Paul. "I'll be off, now. See you later then."

Paul returned the embrace and whispered so only I could hear, "Go easy on him, all right? George, I mean. And have fun tonight."

I tried not to frown at his words, and walked over to Charlie. We both walked away by the light of the fading sunset, and I could faintly hear George say in a miserable voice to Paul, "He _stole_ my words from me! _I_ wanted to tell her that! Because Jesus Christ, she looked incredibly—"

But that's all I heard before we rounded the corner and Charlie linked arms with me.

* * *

_Sorry it's a bit of a cliffhanger, but hopefully it will keep you on edge and encourage to you still read this story when I get back! :) What did you think? Any comments you'd like to share about Paul, Peggy, John, George, Charlie, or anyone else? Something you liked or disliked? A good or bad feeling you got? Then please, tell me in a review, I'd like to know! Constructive criticism is always welcome, I love to hear your feedback!_

_And now, this is good bye for a little while! Hope you all have a great rest of the summer holiday, and that you'll still be here when I return! :) Thanks so much everyone for sticking with me this long!_

_Hey, Be-a-tle! You shall have some fun, ey?_


	12. 11: You Really Got A Hold On Me

_Guess who's back... back again... Meggie's back... tell a friend...  
Hello everyone, and thanks so much for all of the great reviews I received! :) I got back from my vacation a couple weeks ago, and I've just endured two weeks of junior year. Needless to say, I'm ready for summer vacation again! Anyways, welcome back to another chapter! Hope everyone had a great summer and Labor Day weekend! If you're not from America, then I hope you have a great summer and fun weekend :) _

_Hopefully I've still got readers! I've managed to write up another chapter and a half during the two weeks I got back, and I'm just warning you now that there will be a change in my updating schedule. It was easier to update and write more material during summer, but now instead of every week, I will update every other week. So every other Tuesday I will post a new chapter, and it will give me more time to edit and write in between my school schedule. I'd also like to point out that I'm a very lazy student :/_

_SO! I don't make you wait any longer, since it's already been so long!  
Remember, I only own the O'Higgins and Charlie Norwood, these characters are purely fictional! Now enjoy!_

_-M _

* * *

"I take it you don't like that other lad back there?" Charlie asked me as we sat in a small but cozy diner. We planned eating dinner there, and then heading off to the theatres afterwards.

I sighed and twiddled my fork around on the plate. "That was George, the boy I told you about before. The one you told the teacher on?"

"Ah. Right, him."

"Yeah, well," I continued, "He's usually a really sweet guy, nice and witty and everything. Probably just having an off day."

Charlie took a sip out of his Coke bottle and inquired, "That Paul fellow, however, you would've thought he was your father or brother giving me a whole inspection and laying out rules and such!"

I couldn't help but laugh at this, because that's exactly how Paul acted before we left. He even puffed up his chest and spoke to Charlie in a deeper, firmer voice than usual, narrowing his eyes and making wild hand gestures to make sure he had Charlie intimidated. "Oh, he's just looking out for me. We're best mates, he and I. Since we were kids."

During dinner we talked and got to know each other better. Charlie said he planned to move back to London in a few years to become a businessman. He moved out here to live with his aunt after getting kicked out of his old school for stirring up a bit of trouble. His parents thought sending him to Liverpool would shape him up.

"Not that I'm trying to sound rude or anything, but here in Liverpool, it's not exactly Buckingham Palace," he told me, hesitating and trying to put it nicely.

But I knew what he meant, and especially in clubs or when it came to Mods, Rockers, and Teddy Boys, Liverpool was a rough place to live in. Charlie came from a wealthy and proper family who lived in a large estate, while most of us in Liverpool worked extremely hard just to get by. "No, I understand. London's this real posh place, I bet, and here in The Pool, it's not nice and beautiful, and we've got fights jumping about constantly. Still, it's home, and I love it," I replied. Skiffle was popular all over England, not just Liverpool. However, here in Liverpool, I would witness brawls during The Quarrymen's sets, and instead of breaking it up and pulling people apart, we'd all be shouting cheers and chants, until they stopped.

"Yeah, I've seen those fights at The Cavern a couple of times," he recalled, just as he pulled out some money to pay for the food.

As he did this, my mind drifted back to how he came to be in Liverpool. What had he done that was bad enough to get him kicked out of school? "Charlie, if you don't mind me asking, what did you do that was so bad and landed you here in Liverpool?"

He didn't meet my eyes, and mumbled, "I'd rather not talk about it, if that's all right."

I didn't ask about it again, and soon we were off to the pictures. I couldn't remember the name of the movie, just that it was a typical beach romance story. There was no "touching hands in the popcorn" moments or "grabbing the boy's hand in fear," but he did put his arm around me in the middle of the movie, something I felt incredibly shy about. I found myself wondering if I'd ever get to be in this position with George, and felt a little ashamed. I was here with Charlie, how could I think of George at a time like this? Even if his smile was much more adorable than Charlie's, and he was funnier and incredibly sweet—when he wasn't calling Charlie a wanker. I sighed and tried to shake thoughts of George away.

After the movie, we took a walk in the park nearby my house; the same park where George had kissed me on my fourteenth birthday. We talked more and shared stories. I found that Charlie was a charming boy, and he was a true gentleman, even though I still felt something was missing. He walked me back home that night, and it was nearly ten o'clock.

We stood outside the small gate around my house, and he said, "I really did enjoy tonight, Peggy. I was thinking... maybe we could do this again sometime?" He looked at me nervously.

I smiled softly. "Of course! I had a lovely time. Thank you, Charlie."

My heart raced as he leaned down slowly, and placed an innocent kiss on my lips. He kissed me gently, and there was no doubt it felt nice. But it was nowhere near as wonderful and sweet as when George kissed me. My heart didn't beat as fast, and my head wasn't swimming with happiness, it just felt nice.

When he pulled away, he whispered, "Good night, Peggy," and turned to walk back home, waving as he left.

I watched him walk away, trying to sort out my feelings. Would I ever want my relationship with Charlie to be anything more than this? Just two people who felt an innocent, silly attraction towards each other? My brain told me yes, because he would be good for me and I couldn't dwell on George forever. Naturally, my heart told me otherwise and seemed to be screaming, "No! Never! George is who I need, George is _perfect_ for me!"

As soon as he was out of sight, I heard someone say, "Well he was straightforward now, wasn't he?"

I spun around and saw Paul leaning against the small brick wall that lined his front yard, giving me a curious look. Over the years a tall hedge had developed over the brick, making it seem as if he were almost being consumed by the bushy mass. "Paulie! How long have you been there?"

"Oh, long enough to see him trying to woo you," he teased. He hopped over the wall and walked over to me. "And how was the date?" His look almost seemed to search within me, trying to dig out the truth.

"It was nice," I answered, trying to keep it simple. But when he looked at me sternly, I sighed and added, "He's a gentleman and all, but what if John's right? What if we're too different? He's kind and sort of charming, but my goodness, Paul, I kept thinking to myself, 'What if it were George next to me instead of Charlie?' It was driving me barmy!"

Paul rested his arm around my shoulders and walked me up to my door. "You fancy George, still. 'S not hard to see. Even John, that blind bugger, could see it! You aren't going out with Charlie again, are you?"

Not at all happy that he could still see through me, I timidly replied, "Well... yes I am. He asked if we could do this again sometime and I said of course. George doesn't fancy me, and—"

"Oh, bloody Christ, Peggy, really? _Really_? Did you see how George looked at you tonight? He was jealous of Charlie earlier, it was obvious!" Paul nearly shouted. He exhaled, trying to calm down, and said in a softer voice, "You need to give him a chance."

I knew Paul was trying to makes both of us happy, but I said to him, "Paul, maybe things will be different in the future, but right now, I'm giving Charlie a chance, all right?"

He rolled his eyes and hugged me. "Yeah, yeah, all right. Well, g'night then, Pegs. Don't forget to tell your family, it's Christmas at my house this year!"

::::::::::::::::::::

The next time I saw George was two days before Christmas. He had stopped by Paul's house that afternoon to rehearse with him. When he arrived, he found Paul and I seated at the piano in the front room, tinkering away at tunes we knew.

"Listen to this one, then," Paul instructed, and I scooted to the edge of the piano bench to give him better access to the whole keyboard. He started playing an unfamiliar tune that was paced at a moderate tempo, and he began to sing pleasantly.

"_When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now, will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greeting, bottle of wine? If I've been out 'til quarter to three, would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm sixty-four?"_

I let out an amused laugh and said, "Brilliant, that! When did you think about this song? Yer sixteen, not an old geezer!"

"True, but I bet when I'm famous and I record this song, when I turn sixty-four, the world will have a bit of a laugh at this, won't they?" We shared another chuckled and he went on, "Still, I was just thinking about what I'll be like in the future, I guess. How things will change and all that."

That was when Mike walked into the room with George right behind him. "Paul, George is here," he announced, then grabbed his camera from the table next to the couch, sitting himself down and snapping a picture of Paul and I at the piano.

Paul rose and greeted his friend, while I remained on the piano bench and quietly played a simple version of "Jingle Bells."

"Hullo," George greeted. He held up his guitar case with his right hand, while his left remained deep in his jacket pockets. "Brought me guitar. Thought we could jam a bit 'fore Christmas?"

With a nod, the elder McCartney ran upstairs to his bedroom to retrieve his own guitar. I was thankful for Mike's presence, otherwise being in the room alone with George would have made the situation far too awkward for me to bear.

I heard George humming along to the Christmas tune I was playing on the piano, and looked back at him, the music never faltering. He shrugged and gave me a light smile; something I realized became a trademark of his. I noticed his lips were never really straight when he smiled, resulting in a crooked look. But it was still amazingly attractive to me. Sure, I thought, try and be mad at him all you want, but he just _had_ to be good-looking, didn't he?

Paul returned to the room with his guitar, and sat on one of the arms of the couch. "John should be here in a bit. Until then, what should we play?"

At the exact moment, there was loud knocking at the door, and I could hear Jim McCartney yell from upstairs, "For the sake of me poor old ears, answer that damn door! I swear, that bloody lad will get you into trouble like I told you, Paul!"

That sent us into a fit of laughter as Paul went to answer the door. I could hear the sharp voice grumble, "Christ, Macca, what took you so bleedin' long? It just started snowing again and I'm fucking cold!"

"Watch yer _bloody_ language, Lennon!" I hollered from the front room with an impish grin. I got up from the piano and my grin transformed into a smirk before John, who had his own sly grin on his face. "Afraid of catching a cold, hey John?"

"Piss off, and just let me in the house!" he whined, jumping around on the porch. We let him in and I peered out into the street. He was right; the snow had just begun to fall again in large wet flurries.

George magically materialized by my side and he said in awe, "Huge snowflakes, those! Haven't played out in the snow in a while." He walked past me and out into the snow, turning around a few times and throwing his head back to catch snowflakes on his tongue. He abruptly stopped, glancing back at me.

"Well? Aren't you coming? I don't want to be out playing by meself; I'd look like a loony!"

I rolled my eyes and replied, "I don't know, Georgie, it's freezing! Besides, didn't you come over here to rehearse?"

He offered up another crooked smile. "_Georgie?_ That's the first time you ever called me that. Besides, those two are most likely figuring out one of their own songs and won't need me until later. Come on, we don't have to be out here long."

And I never thought I'd see the day when he'd do it, but George started giving me puppy eyes. _Puppy eyes._ I wasn't sure how aware he was of his good looks, but the pleading eyes he was giving me made him beyond cute. I desperately hoped I wasn't blushing, because I couldn't let him get any ideas. Sure, I still fancied him. Hell, I liked him _a lot_, even after that whole episode when he found out I was dating Charlie Norwood. I had already gone on three dates with Charlie by now, and though I did think he was a nice boy and mildly liked him, I couldn't help but think I was using him for my own personal gain; a substitution in place of George, the boy I couldn't have.

"All right, fine," I sighed. "Just let me get my coat."

His smile widened. "Great! Tell John and Paul we'll be out here for a bit, too!"

I walked back into the living room, where John and Paul were tuning their guitars. John was standing, leaning against the side of the piano, while Paul resumed his position on the armrest and Mike was snapping photos of them from the couch. All three of them looked up at me when I entered the room.

"Where's George?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Outside," I mumbled my reply. "We're, uhm, we're going to go outside in the snow for a bit, if that's all right. Said you wouldn't need him fer a little while."

John snorted as he finished tuning his guitar. "_Just_ going out in the snow? But I thought you were already going out with that posh London bloke?" When I gave him a hard stare, he chuckled. "Oh, right. You still fancy Georgie! You naughty girl, you!" He wagged an accusing finger at me and let out a loud playful laugh.

"Shurrup, John," I growled and reached for my coat, which was hung up on the coat rack in the corner of the room.

Paul patted my shoulder as I put on my jacket. "It's all right, we won't need him right now anyways. We're working on a song John wrote last year, and mostly have it perfect. Just going over it."

Any time Paul mentioned their music, it always peaked my interest. "What's it called?"

" 'Hello Little Girl,' " John answered.

That sent me into a bout of giggles. "Really now?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Because," I began, "Paul's got that song he wrote, 'I Lost My Little Girl.' Looks like John just found her!"

The boys all broke out into amused grins and when I passed John on the way to the front door, he ruffled my hair. "Witty, aren't ye? Now go on, you naughty bird! Don't hurt little Georgie _too_ bad, we need that git for shows at The Cavern after holidays are over!"

Once I was outside, I saw George kicking around some snow, muttering to himself. But when he noticed I was there, he smiled and said, "Cor, took you long enough!"

"Sorry, I was asking about their song," I half lied. Technically, I was. He didn't have to know John was talking about my attraction towards him as well.

He held out his hand for me to take, and I cautiously took it. My fingers were freezing, but on contact with his, they burned and my heart skipped a beat. "Come 'ead, we're going to make snow angels. Christ, I haven't done that in years!" And with that, he fell back to the ground, bringing me along with him.

"George!" I let out a cry of surprise, but was giggling as soon as we were both lying there, waving our arms and legs back and forth to make snow angels. We were like that for a few minutes, before we stopped and let out laughter die down.

I was gripping at the snow, secretly forming a snowball, and stood from my spot. George sent me a confused look, until I pelted him with the snowball. "Gotcha!" I exclaimed, laughing all over again.

George scrambled up onto his knees, scooping up snow and tossing a sloppy snowball in my direction. "Oh, no you don't!" he protested, and soon we were engaged in our own snowball war. I jumped over the small brick wall separating my yard from Paul's, taking up the fresh while flakes from there and tossing snow at George. They were no longer snowballs, more like handfuls of snow; we had become too careless in our battle to form them correctly.

We called a truce not too longer afterwards, falling back onto our snow angels and lying there to catch our breath. Now words were yet exchanged, and I had forgotten all about the animosity we had felt towards each other right before my first date with Charlie.

He was the first to break the silence. "Peggy?"

"Yes, George?"

"W-Well, I just wanted to say," he stammered, "I'm really sorry about that night. When you and Charlie went on..." He paused briefly, before carrying on, "Anyways, I hope you forgive me. I didn't mean to be such an ass. I still don't like that wan—_bloke_."

I couldn't hide my smile at all. His apology meant so much to me, and I completely forgave him. "I forgive you, George. And I understand, you really don't like him. I should have warned you I was going out with him."

It was quiet again, if only for a moment, before he spoke. "What did you mean when you asked why I didn't tell you that I had girlfriend?"

His words stung my heart and I had to refrain from wincing. So he does have a girlfriend, I thought glumly. "I, uhm, last year, went to visit you when Paul was out at Yorkshire on holiday. Peter said you were busy with your girlfriend, Iris or something."

George sat up from the snow and said incredulously, "_Iris? Iris Caldwell?_ Christ, that was a long time ago! I'm not with Iris. Hell, I never _was_ with her. She was just the girl who lived on my street who took a liking to me. Our families are friends, and we'd hang out sometimes. Peter said she was my _girlfriend?_"

Relief washed over me, and a newfound hope sparked within. So did that mean he was single? Did he actually fancy me after all? "Yeah," I said, chuckles lacing my words, "So, I'm sorry about yelling about that too. Does this mean you don't have a girlfriend?" I tried to hide my interest and made it sound casual.

There was a long pause before George gave me an answer. "No, I've got a girlfriend now."

Well, there goes my newfound hope and joy.

"Her name's Ruth Morrison."

My eyes flashed with anger. _Ruth?_ That flirty girl in my class? The one with the long blonde hair, dazzling green eyes and long legs? _That_ was his girlfriend? Well compared to her, I was no competition at all! She instantly won that match. "Oh, I know her," I replied bluntly. That's when I stood and started walking towards the door. "Come 'ead, George, it's cold and I think you should be back inside to rehearse."

I heard George stumbling after me. "Wait, Peggy!"

But I had already made it inside the house, and was taking off my jacket and hanging it on the rack, listening to the song Paul and John were practicing.

* * *

_So we find out the true about George and Iris Caldwell! Aren't you glad that he wasn't a jerk after all and it was just a huge misunderstanding? Still need to see about the drunken kiss, though. But that'll come in later chapters! :)_

_Tell me what you thought! Did it evoke anger, tears, strong emotions, maybe even a few chuckles? (Highly doubt that, this sadly isn't much of a comedy :/ ) What are you feelings about Charlie now? Because I know that some of you said you liked his character, which I'm glad you do! Ooh but what do you think he did back at his old high school? Feel free to leave reviews, and I do love constructive criticism, it helps me grow and become a better writer! (That's the plan, anyways)_

_So I know that I'm always writing a lot during these Author's Notes and that's because I'm very talkative and have a lot to say. It's not always important, but this next bit is!_

_"Easterner with greasy feet speak with forked tongue!"_

_...Also, I'd like to point out to all of you John Lennon fans (and if you did not know, John has been my favorite Beatle since I was a wee lass! haha :P ), that Mark David Chapman, John Lennon's killer, was denied parole for the 6th time today, postponing his release from prison to 2012. How much do you want to bet that he'll be denied once again then? :) Just news that sort of made me go, "Well good!" _


	13. 12: I Don't Like You, But I Love You

_Hello to all, and thanks so much for the reviews! Glad I still had some readers :) Hopefully this chapter is worth the two week wait, and I'm sorry again that I had to change it from updating once a week to every other week. I know I probably don't have the worse school schedule, but honestly, my English class is kicking my butt. It was easier to update more frequently during the summer, but ever since I had to end my 3-month "affair" with Mr. Summer Vacation and go back to my jealous, controlling spouse of over 11 years, Mr. School, I don't have all the time I'd like to :( (Would you like some wine that that cheese?) Also, there's a bit of fluff in here. If you squint. (Sad to say, it took me forever to figure out what exactly fluff was, thus I misuse the term)_

_ANYWAYS, once again, I only own the O'Higgins and Charlie Norwood... so far ;) Now enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

On the first day of the year 1959, Charlie asked me to be his girlfriend. I maybe had said yes for the wrong reasons, but nevertheless, I agreed and we had been happily going out. Well, I think he was happy, anyways. I did enjoy being with him, but I wasn't truly happy. I just needed someone, _anyone_ to take my mind off of my want for George.

That summer, I turned sixteen, and Paul turned seventeen. I couldn't believe how much we had grown; Paul was nearly six feet tall, and I was just at an average height, which was around five-foot-five. That didn't stop us from being kids, though, because as soon as the cake was set on the table for us during our small party, we apparently had the same idea and smash each other's faces into the cake, creating a big mess. But we had a laugh anyways. Things were changing fast, and we wanted to slow down and enjoy simple things for once.

The Quarrymen were changing, and soon they were without a drummer. This didn't faze them much, because whenever they played at The Cavern, they would get a stand-in drummer to play for the night. But it was always someone different, and they couldn't find someone they could agree on.

The band had consisted of just John, Paul, and George for a while; three guitarists, no bassist, and there would be the drummer for the night. Half of the time Paul would act as their drummer, but he was poor at it and complained that he'd much rather play guitar than whack away at a drum kit.

Then, Paul informed me of The Casbah Coffee Club. It was the large cellar beneath the house belonging to a woman named Mona Best, and she had turned it into a hang out for young people to enjoy performers and music. He said that the club would open later that August, and asked if I would come to help and paint it.

When we arrived at The Casbah, we were met with an impatient John, a rather bored George, an older woman I could only guess to be Mona Best, and two others; a young man around John's age with thick-framed sunglasses, and a woman of the same age with shoulder-length blonde hair and a shy smile.

"Brought the mini bird, have you Paul?" John commented with a cheeky grin. I made my way over to John and shoved his shoulder with mine, causing him to stumble slightly. "Hey, hey! Watch it, love!"

"Has your hearing gone along with your eyesight, John? I thought we agreed that you don't call me a 'bird,' " I warned playfully, "I'm too young for you, remember? Makes it sound like flirting if you say 'bird.' "

He rolled his eyes. "Right, right, Mummy Dearest, me daft mind just let that slip. Introductions, then!" He jerked his head over to the older woman. "That's Mona Best, and this is her place. That lad there is Stuart, just call him Stu, he's me mate from art school. And _this_ bird here," he paused to walk over to the young woman and place an arm around her waist, "is my girl, Cyn." He pointed to Paul and I. "Those munchkins there are Paul and Peggy, the wonder duo."

"Regular peas in a pod, John," Paul said sarcastically. "Right, then, let's get to work, hey?"

We descended into the cellar that would be the coffee club, and Mona handed us buckets of paint and tons of paintbrushes. She simply instructed we paint all of the walls with two coats and allow them to dry. Then after they had dried, we could paint any sort of design we wanted over top of them.

I started painting a corner of the wall, when the girl named Cyn turned up next to me. "Hello, I know our introduction was a bit brief, but I'm Cynthia. Or Cyn, either one." She smiled and held her free hand out for me to shake.

I gladly shook her hand back. "I'm Peggy, nice to meet you." I dipped the paintbrush into the bucket of paint and began with long, even strokes. "So, are you from the art college too?"

"Yes, that's where I met John. I'm a year ahead, though," she answered, painting a section of the wall beside me. It was obvious she was an artist by the delicate way she held her brush, and carefully but confidently applied the first layer of paint to the wall. "If you don't mind me asking, are you Paul's girlfriend?"

Breaking out into laughter was the only reaction I could offer. Of course, it did attract everyone's attention and cause Cynthia to stare at me in wonder, but I calmed down after a short while and shook my head. "No, no, of course not! We've just been best friends for years now. We're next-door neighbors as well. But, no, just friends."

She nodded her head in understanding as everyone went back to painting. "Oh, I see. So," she quieted her voice down, "is that why you've been glancing over at George every few seconds?"

Now to _that_ question, I flung my arms up, causing a splatter of paint to fly against the opposite wall, nearly hitting Paul. "Watch it, Pegs!" he cried as he dodged the paint. "This is a bloody white shirt!"

"Sorry!" I hollered back, and shushed my voice when I turned to Cynthia. "Christ, do I really make it _that_ obvious? John saw it, Paul saw it, and now you?" I groaned and nearly leaned my head against the wall, until I remembered it was wet with paint and instantly caught myself and withdrew.

Cynthia let out a soft giggle and replied, "Well, he's looking over at you every so often too. Why haven't you told him anything?"

I frowned and continued painting the wall. "Long story short, because he's got a girlfriend, and I've got a boyfriend. Plus, when we were younger, he kissed me _while_ he was apparently with another girl—but that turned out to not be true—but then he didn't do _anything_ about it, and he hasn't for the past two years, so I can safely say he doesn't fancy me at all."

She shook her head with a smile and I thought I could hear her mumble, "Ah, what a cute couple they'd make," but I ignored it and resumed my task.

A couple hours later, we were done with the second coat and were about to start painting the designs. I was now standing in between John and George, when I heard the older boy say in frustration, "Bloody Christ, why isn't this wall dry yet?"

Cynthia and I walked over to see what was wrong, and we both broke out into laughter. "John!" I gasped, "You painted that section of the wall with _gloss_, not paint! That's not going to dry anytime soon, you blind git!"

"What?" he shouted incredulously. Then he squinted at the wall, and gazed down at the bucket beside him. Leaning down, he struggled to get a better view of the label. "Oh. Maybe it does say gloss," he mumbled.

"Damn your eyes!" Paul shouted jokingly.

"Too late!" John screamed back while waving his thick-framed Buddy Holly glasses at Paul's face, and started blowing on the wall in an attempt to dry it faster. "Well, damn me poor eyesight, then. Let me paint on yer wall then, Cyn!" He excitedly went over to his girlfriend's section of the wall and took up a paintbrush, drawing swirly and intricate designs.

With John gone, George started up a conversation with me. "So, what are you going to paint on the wall, Van Gogh?" he teased.

I gazed over at him and said with a completely straight and serious face, "I was thinking of painting Jesus on the crucifix with the devil standing close to watch. Mummy says I'm great at painting the devil."

I received a strange and disturbed stare from George, and his expression made me break the act and start laughing. "Calm down, Georgie! I was just pulling your leg." He let out a relieved sigh and gave me an embarrassed smile. "Any road, I was thinking about painting a—"

"A dragon!" John roared from the other side of the room. We all turned our attention to him, and saw that he was messily painting a large picture of a dragon along with Stu, and his maniacal laughter caused us to follow in suit.

"What should I paint, John?" I asked, waving my paintbrush about.

He paused and stepped away from his own masterpiece of a moment, before muttering the same question to Stu. The older boy shrugged and answered John, who spun around and said, "Draw me a spider web. Not a dinky one, but a _huge_ one, then we'll all draw our own spider on it, got it?"

So George and I set to work, taking up the white paint and aiding me in drawing the giant spider web. We were giggling as we painted, when George's paintbrush accidentally jerked to the side and tossed a bit of paint onto my dress.

"Aw damn, I'm really sorry about that, Peggy," he immediately said with a frown. "Are you okay? Christ, I really am sorry! Let me get a towel or something." He looked panicked and I couldn't help but noticed how adorable and sweet it was for him to worry about me, even if it was over the smallest of things.

I gently put a hand on his arm and assured him, "George, take a deep breath, it's fine, really. It'll wash out, nothing to worry about." I smiled at him to make sure he understood, and even though it was a bit dark in the room, I thought I saw his face turn a faint shade of red.

"Oh, well, all right then," he murmured and went back to painting. I could hear John and Paul bickering about what to paint, and Cynthia and Stu laughing at the both of them. I turned to look at what was going on, and soon saw Cynthia painting a silhouette of what appeared to be John on the wall, when George drew my attention again. "So, how are you and Charlie?"

This question caught me completely off-guard. Was he actually curious about my relationship with him? "Uhm, well, fine," I replied simply and tried to focus on my painting.

"That's good," he mumbled. "Is he... is he treating you right? I mean, you know, he's posh and everything, but it's always the blokes you don't suspect to do anything bad who turn out wrong."

I whipped my head around to look up at him and frowned. "What exactly do you mean?"

He shrugged and faced his side of the painting. "You know that we can be rough lads, but we're all good at heart. I think so, anyways. You know you can trust us. That Norwood bloke, though, he's a goody-goody and doesn't cause trouble and all, but he's got this _look_," he paused and looked at me, widening his eyes as if trying to demonstrate what he was referring to, "that tells you he's not all good and proper as he makes himself out to be. _No one_ is so good all the time. It's just a matter of time before he lets loose."

I was now sending him glares, about ready to assault him with questions along the lines of "How _dare_ you say these things about my boyfriend?" I may not have liked Charlie as much as he liked me, but I still didn't feel at ease with George saying these things about him. That is, until he continued speaking.

"I'm not saying stop being his girlfriend," George said after a moment's hesitation. "If he makes you happy, then be with him. I—I... I _want_ you to be happy, Peggy Sue," he said and looked up at me shyly with his trademark crooked smile. "I don't like Charlie, and I probably never will. But if he makes you happy, then so be it." He resumed painting and began humming the song "Peggy Sue."

For the first time, I felt both proud and guilty. I was proud that George had decided to put away his pride and accept that I was dating someone he clearly disliked. But then that came with it's own side plate of guilt. Being with Charlie didn't make me happy at all; not _completely _happy, anyways. Sure, Charlie was a very good-looking boy and it was flattering that he would like me at all, but nothing made my heart skip a beat like George's gorgeous smile and sweet nature; even if George did dress like a Ted, he was a sweetheart underneath it all, and that attracted me. Charlie had recently begun to take less of an interest in me, and there would be days when he ignored me or wouldn't call at all. Only _George_ could make me happy, and I felt terrible that he was giving me his blessing and everything, when I want _him_ and not even my own boyfriend.

I cleared my throat and asked, "How are you and Ruth? She seems to be very happy with you, she's bragging to her friends every day in class about you. Drives me barmy sometimes," I joked, trying not to show that I was hurt that he had a girlfriend. It was hypocritical of me, but I couldn't help it.

George stopped painting the wall for a moment, and remained silent as he caught himself and resumed what he was doing. He took a few seconds before answering. "Ruth and I are... sort of having a rough time right now. I get the feeling she's... sort of cheating on me. And she's always canceling dates or isn't there when I call. I don't know."

Part of me was cheering with enthusiasm and joy on the inside, and maybe even hopeful that he would end it with her. But the other part of me felt so guilty and horrible. George didn't deserve that at all, and it was a wicked thing to hope they would break up. Not that it wasn't expected; she was one of those fast and easy girls anyways. But George looked truly concerned about it.

"Hey, Georgie, don't be so down," I cooed softly, "If it's meant to be, it'll work out and you two'll find a way to make it work. If not, then you'll find someone even better than her, guaranteed." I smiled reassuringly at him and lightly rubbed his arm to put him at ease.

He returned the smile. "Charlie's lucky he has you. You're completely faithful to him."

I scoffed and gave him a disbelieving look. "Why don't you try telling him that. Sometimes it's like I don't even exist."

George chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. His gaze broke away from the wall and turned over to me. "Then that wanker clearly doesn't understand what an amazing girl he's got."

His words did touch my heart—even if he called him a wanker again. Hearing this coming from George, it made my heart soar and I couldn't have been happier. They meant so much more coming from him, and I didn't know what to say to that.

So I did the only thing I saw fit to do then. I put down my paintbrush and leaned over to wrap my arms around George's skinny torso, closing my eyes and savoring the moment. No words, just the gesture. Soon he put down his own brush and returned the hug, and that's when I felt my heart skip a beat and my mind was at ease.

Isn't this just sunshine and double rainbows; I'm Charlie Norwood's girlfriend, but I'm in love with George Harrison.

My eyes snapped open. I had finally admitted it to myself. I didn't just fancy him; I was in love.

::::::::::::::::::::

"Don't think I didn't see that, Peggy Mae," Paul told me as we were walking to the graveyard later that night. "It was touching, really."

We had finished painting the Casbah and were on our way to the local graveyard at around eight o'clock at night, strolling with the cool summer breeze drifting by us. Paul and John had been meeting up there in the middle of the night countless time just to hang out when they couldn't sleep. Sometimes they'd share song ideas, or they'd just talk. I only showed up on a couple of occasions, mostly because sitting in a graveyard at night spooked me. John promised he'd meet us there after he walked Cynthia home, and told us not to wait up for him.

Paul's left cheek was spattered with red and blue paint, and his hands held every colour of the rainbow. My hands looked just the same, and I still had the white spot of paint on my dress from where George had accidentally hit me. I chuckled when I thought about it.

"Glad you were enjoying the drama, Paulie," I said sarcastically.

He chuckled and slung a lazy arm around my shoulders. "Bonding time with George, hey? What was that all about? Not going to cheat on Charlie with him now, are ye?"

"No!" I cried, shaking my head vigorously. True, I was in love with George and not my own boyfriend, but I would never ever cheat on him. I couldn't ever cheat on someone, no matter who they were. "No, of course not. George just told me that he was okay with me dating Charlie and some... other stuff, and that he just wanted me to be happy."

My best friend blinked a couple times in confusion. "Was that not the perfect time to tell him, 'No, the only thing that makes me happy is you, Georgie Porgie!' " He imitated me with an obnoxious high-pitched voice. I smacked him on the side of his ribs for that, causing him to let out an "Oof."

"Shurrup, I can't just say that, he's still got a girlfriend! Even if they are having a few problems right now. You probably know her; it's Ruth Morrison."

"_Her?_ Aw, bleedin' Christ, I thought George was better than that!"

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Yeah, well, maybe he sees something in her we don't. Who knows."

Paul nudged me with his elbow. "Maybe he's trying to make you jealous? Oh, you can't tell me you don't feel the _slightest_ bit of envy for her!"

I shoved lightly right back. "Of course I do! You know that, there's no use in hiding it from you. But he's really upset about it, Paul. He thinks she's _cheating_ on him, and I don't want to get between whatever troubles they're having. Besides, I've got Charlie. Even though... well, you know." I groaned and closed my eyes in frustration. Why was this so difficult? It didn't have to be this hard; hell, it _shouldn't_ be this hard to get someone you loved!

When we arrived at the gates of the graveyard, we slipped in through a section of the bars that were worn down and wider than the rest. Seeing no sign of John, we decided to lie in the grass in between a row of headstones and watch the stars while waiting for him. We didn't get to see lots of them, not like in the countryside, but I still enjoyed looking at them and feeling hope. I was pointing out constellations to Paul, and we were making up our own as well.

He pointed to the constellation that was Gemini and said, "That's us there, Pegs. Not just 'cause we're born in June, but we're just like them. Twins, I mean. Regular peas in a pod." He grinned over at me and I returned it.

"Well maybe we were supposed to be in the same womb, and got separated somehow in the crazy spiritual world. Maybe I was supposed to be a McCartney! Peggy Mae McCartney? No, I don't think it flows too well. Or maybe you were supposed to be an O'Higgins! James Paul O'Higgins. That's got a nice ring to it. Sort of," I ranted on, but stopped when I saw the bizarre look Paul was giving me. "Oh, all right, never mind. We're better off as best friends."

His smile faltered, and I could tell something was wrong. But I didn't have to ask, because he finally said, "Now don't go calling me a poof or anything over this, but I feel like I'm second next to Stu, now. It's like now he's John's best mate—though my friendship with him isn't like ours, you're my girl best friend, and I guess I feel like John's me best guy mate—and now I'm taking a back seat to him. What if he kicks me out of The Quarrymen and invites Stu?"

"Does Stu even play an instrument?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Then why would he join?" I inquired. "Even if he did, John's not that daft. He does value you, and I'm sure he still thinks of you as a best mate. Besides, you've always got me!" I grinned triumphantly and sat up in the grass, putting my hands on my hips.

He laughed and shook his head. "You're right. Stu's not a bad guy, you know. I'm just worrying."

"Oh, Paulie, don't worry too much about your boy troubles, hey?"

Paul sputtered and recoiled. "Hey! I thought I told you not to—"

"Call you a poof, yes," I interjected, "and I didn't!"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Well at least _my_ boy troubles aren't anything like yours!"

There was a rustling from the gates, and both of us sat upright to see who it was. In the darkness we couldn't make out the identity of the tall figure, but as soon as he tripped into the bushes and let out an angry, "Oh _fucking hell_, trim the god damn bushes," we knew it was John.

John stumbled his way over to us, plucking out leaves and branches from his jacket and hair. He was still grumbling about the bushes when he finally sat in the grass in between Paul and I.

"Lovely of you to join us, mate," I commented, reaching over to snatch a stray leaf from his curling tufts of hair. I caught a whiff of him as I did, and scrunched up my nose. "Are you pissed?"

"Just a bit," he answered with a lazy grin. "Listen, Paul, I was thinking we get Stu on bass fer us."

I turned to glance at Paul, and I could tell by the way he was trying to hide his grimace that he didn't like that idea at all. "Yeah? Didn't know Stu could play."

"Nah, he can't play fer shite. But we need a bassist. A bassist who can't play fer shite is better than no bassist at all!"

Paul subtly gave me a look that said "I told you so," and I tried to ignore it. He was acting more like a girl than I was about this!

"Er, yeah, fine, I guess," he sighed. The disappointment was apparent in his eyes, especially by the way he tried his best to avoid eye contact with John. He curled his lips up into a fake smile, but luckily for him, John dismissed it and went on.

"Look mate, I've got another tune in me head. I'll give you a listen tomorrow or sommat." He was pulling out his thick-framed glasses as he spoke, slipping them on and squinting ever so slightly at a gravestone behind Paul.

Paul muttered, "What, you could've given Stu a listen instead 'fore we left."

John let out a rather obnoxious snort and laughed, "You daft, son? I only run me songs by you—though at rare times, George—cause I know Stu's just going to say he likes it even if it's rubbish. You're the ass who will actually tell me if my song's a load of crap or not."

His remarks evoke laugher from me, and for some reason, I couldn't stop my giggling. I knew I wasn't just laughing at his words, but more like the situation. Paul was so worried like a psychotic girlfriend that John would choose Stu over him as a best friend, but what the poor boy didn't understand was that to that rough Ted, he was already irreplaceable. They clashed against each other, steel against steel, but at the same time, they would complete each other. Paul was the refined, polite, but persistent and professional side of the friendship, while John was untamed, rude, witty yet full of raw energy and ideas that complimented everything Paul did. It would have been natural for me to feel envious over their relationship, but I never did and I never could; it didn't get in the way of my friendship with Paul, and besides, it was clear as day to me that it was fate for them to meet. I loved watching them bounce off of each other no matter what they were doing—rehearsing, sharing song ideas, playing at a gig, bickering about who could hold their liquor longer. Paul was acting silly when he thought John liked Stu better.

"Calm the mini bird down, Macca! She'll wake the dead laughing like that," said John, chuckling at his own pathetic joke.

The way Paul broke into his own rounds of snickering indicated that he understood things between him and John weren't as complicated as he thought.

When he nudged my shoulder and grinned at me, I accidentally blurted out, "Boy troubles solved, Paulie?"

Of course, I was mentally kicking myself for that comment, and although Paul tried to cover it up like I never even uttered the words, John heard it and felt the need to voice his thoughts.

"Christ, are you a _poof?_"

Sorry, mate!

* * *

_See what I did there at the end? ;) and YES, YES I DID JUST MENTION DOUBLE RAINBOWS IN THIS CHAPTER. Apparently that guy was sober too..._

_What did you think about this chapter? Was it worth the wait? (I extended it from its original form, so it's a little longer than previous chapters. This is why I like lots of editing time, so it gives you guys more to read! :) ) Tell me how you felt! Did it move you to tears (Unlikely)? Did you laugh? Snort obnoxiously like John just did? Go, "Hey wait a minute but I like Stu Sutcliffe!" Don't worry, so do I, Stu's just a doll :) Who definitely should have lived. But please, tell me your thoughts in a review, and better yet, give me some feedback! What would you like to see? (Hey I haven't asked that before!) There are no guarantees I will put everything you guys want in this story, but who knows, if it fits with my plan for this story, maybe I can sneak some things in here and there ;) Constructive criticism is always welcome! I want to know how I can make this story better! Don't make me use my amateur Jedi powers to persuade you to review! I might accidentally turn your left arm into a wet stalk of broccoli :/_

_This has nothing to do with the story, but just because I never figured it out... did John Lennon ever make a cameo appearance in the movie "Tommy" by The Who? During the song "I'm Free" there's a man sitting in one of the cars who seriously looks just like him._

_"Honestly! Me mind boggles at the very idea! A grown man and you haven't shaved with a safety razor!"_


	14. 13: I Used To Be Cruel To My Woman

_Hello everyone, and thanks so much to those of you who reviewed! It does mean a lot to me, makes me feel good about my writing, and motivates me to write more :) This chapter introduces a couple of new people that most of you might be familiar with ;) And if you spot Ringo's cameo... a cup of tea is waiting with your name on it! Luckily this story will cover far enough into their career so Ringo doesn't JUST make a cameo, but he will make regular appearances,, so have no fear, Ringo fans!_

_I only own the O'Higgins and Charlie Norwood... for now ;) Enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

The Quarrymen, with the new addition of Stuart on bass guitar, weren't the only ones to perform at The Casbah after it had opened. Many other acts included Cilla Black, who was a singer, and bands such as Gerry and the Pacemakers, The Searchers, and Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. All of these bands would also perform at The Cavern, so we were sort of all familiar with each other. In between sets, the bands would mingle and often joke around.

By this time, which was early January of the year 1960, John had indeed invited Stu to join The Quarrymen after he sold a painting, earning enough money to buy a bass. He didn't want to at first, but John was persistent and he began to teach Stu how to play. But of course he didn't kick Paul out of the band; they were still great friends and partners in music. Besides, if John did kick him out, Paul would have a fit (I would have had a row with him as well) and George might not have stuck around for much longer.

Also around this time, Paul finally had his first serious girlfriend, whom he had met at the Casbah. Her name was Dorothy Rhone, a shy, short-haired girl who was a "gentle soul who spoke in whispers and blushed frequently," as Cyn had put it; but she was more commonly known as Dot. She worked at a bank, and I could remember walking with Paul to Stu's flat for a band rehearsal, and he'd take a detour to the bank just to see her, insisting I wait outside. He thought that if I accompanied him, Dot would think I was already his girlfriend.

"So you've finally got a girl, hey? Does she know you're two-timing her with your music?" John said. John, Cynthia, Paul, George, Stu and I were walking to The Casbah that evening for one of their gigs.

Paul's face reddened and he groaned, shoving him lightly in the ribs. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and warned embarrassedly through gritted teeth, "Sod off, mate, I really do like this girl."

I skipped up ahead so I was now walking beside Paul. "Really, now? Where is she then?" I batted my eyes at him, and I saw that John started to do the same on the other side of Paul. It was quite a comical site, though more for John than me; I had my hands clasped and stood on my tippy-toes to get closer and up personal, while John followed in suit, making sure his eyelashes actually touched the poor boy's cheeks.

Paul outstretched his hands to push us away roughly, letting out a disgusted "Ack!" as he did so. He readjusted the guitar slung around his back and replied, "She's, uhh... at The Casbah, I'd think. We're meeting her there."

"And why aren't you picking her up? Not very gentlemanly of you, Macca!" John accused playfully. He then wrapped an arm around Cynthia's waist and pulled her closer, planting a kiss on her cheek. This earned a giggle out of her and she and put a hand over the one he had around her middle.

Letting out a sigh, Paul answered, "I don't know, all right? I'm new to this relationship stuff."

"Besides," George piped up, looking over at me casually, "doesn't it make it bad that you've got Charlie waiting at the club too? Why didn't _he_ pick you up?"

The way he said it so innocently instantly made me think he was trying to mock me or get on my nerves. I shot him a warning glance and replied, "I told him not to. This is different!" And it truly was. The boys didn't get along with Charlie at all. If I was out with him on a date, no doubt one of the boys would just so happen to run into us and either make a fool of themselves, or discreetly put Charlie off. However, as guilty as I should have felt, I ended up giggling along with their antics anyways and telling Charlie to loosen up.

At The Casbah, Rory Storm and the Hurricaines were already playing, so the boys went to the back of the club to get ready. That left Cynthia and I to go out and look for Dot. I hadn't met her properly yet, though I had seen here a few times dancing in the club. Cynthia knew her, and pointed her out to me towards the back. "There," she said, "that's her in the pink dress."

The club was full of teenagers and young people dancing around, and while they danced they sang along and even shouted to the band to play faster or louder or just cheered. When we weaved our way through the crowd and approached Dot, she smiled timidly at us. "Hullo, Cyn. Are the boys here yet?"

The older woman beside me nodded. "Yeah, they're getting ready. This is Peggy, by the way; she's good friends with Paul. Peggy, this is Dot," she introduced, gesturing towards both of us.

Dot gasped and asked, "Paul's told me about you! It's great to meet you, finally. I—well, I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you the same Peggy who's going out with Charlie Norwood?"

I raised an eyebrow in curiosity while I mentally smacked myself. Being with Charlie wasn't all fun and games anymore. I had been with him for nearly a year now, and most couples who are together that long have probably shagged about a million times. And Charlie had hinted at it before, and even tried to persuade me to do it with him, but I couldn't. I don't think I ever could. This began to put a huge dent in our relationship—though I've felt it was one-sided to begin with, anyways. "Yes, actually. How do you know him?"

"I've met him a couple of times down at the bank. Rich bloke, apparently. He's coming this way, look." She pointed a pale finger past us, and I turned around to indeed find Charlie walking towards us with a grin.

When he drew nearer, I faked a smile; something I think even Cynthia knew wasn't real. "So you did turn up," I said casually.

He embraced me and kissed my cheek. I was overjoyed that he hadn't kissed me on the lips, or else I would have been mortified in front of the two girls. "Of course I did, darling. Hello there, Dorothy. Let's dance a bit, shall we?" He held out his hand for me to take, and I reluctantly grabbed it as he dragged me to the dance floor.

The band was playing a rocky tune, and I glanced up to watch them a bit as Charlie and I bopped on the dance floor, with several other people around doing just the same. I giggled as I watched the drummer for Rory Storm shake his head around and sway back and forth with the music, as if he were trying to dance himself. I'd seen the boys talk with him a few times, though I had never met him. I caught myself watching Rory every once in a while—and why wouldn't I? Rory was quite a looker; not long into dancing, he'd toss me a wink or two during the show—something I'm really glad Charlie never noticed.

"Something amusing, Peggy?" Charlie asked inquiringly, offering up an innocent smile.

"Nothing!" I said breathlessly, as dancing was starting to tire me out. After two songs, The Hurricanes left the stage and soon The Quarrymen were out. I caught Paul's eyes and stuck my tongue out at him. He returned the "affection," and pulled his guitar out in front of him, adjusting the strap.

John leaned forward to speak into the microphone. "All right, now that we're up 'ere, we'll get you lot _real _rocky tunes. Okay, lads, any requests?" He looked over at Paul, then Stu and George.

Someone in the audience shouted to him, "Just play a song already, Lennon!"

John rudely stuck up his middle and index finger and waving it at the boy, giving him a rude face, but not before immediately firing back, "Oy, shut yer bloody mouth, you sorry sod! I'm making an important decision up here!" He said something to the other three on stage, and soon they launched into the song "Ain't She Sweet."

I started dancing again with Charlie, and often found myself stealing glances over at George. As I said before, I usually never brought Charlie to The Cavern or Casbah, or anywhere near my friends, to be quite frank. I knew Paul and John didn't think he was right for me, and George didn't like him one bit, so it would be terribly awkward if Charlie started coming to these performances regularly. I knew I couldn't stay with him for much longer; it wasn't making me happy to be with him. Thus when I looked up at George, I couldn't help but feel that fluttery feeling again, because he was looking back at me. Unfortunately, I looked over to the left to find John grinning wickedly at me, and he was looking back and forth between George and I.

When the song ended, John spoke again. "Great, that one, yeah, yeah, yeah, we're just three cool cats, aren't we?"

"There's _four_ of you, you twit!"

John squinted to get a better look at the boy shouting in the audience, who was the same one who was shouting before. "Who the _fuck_ are you, mate? Cause yer getting yer ass beat after this set's done!" Nevertheless, he looked back at his other band mates, as if mentally counting them. He rolled his eyes and muttered accidentally into the microphone, "Jesus there are four of us. Might have to boot someone out."

When the crowd emitted a few chuckles (and Paul groaned at how idiotic John was being), the older boy offered up a goofy grin and continued, "_Any road_, there's a dear friend of ours in the audience right now, her name's P—" he started, but was cut off when Paul smacked him on the arm and shook his head. John rolled his eyes and continued, "Never mind, she doesn't _have_ a name." Paul groaned and looked about ready to smack him again. "_But_, we decided to dedicate this song to her because I said so! And she's sixteen! Now we know how those angsty sixteen-year-old birds get at this age, they just go wild when there's a great looking bloke in the room—just like this one talking here into the mic—and one thing leads to a—"

"For fuck's _sake, _John," Paul warned in an exasperated voice as he sent him a glare.

"Keep yer knotted up knickers on, Paul!" He shouted back with a grin. "Fine, fine. Well we decided George here's singing this tune."

Apparently, George wasn't informed of this beforehand, because as soon as he heard that he was singing, his eyes grew wide and he said incredulously, "_What_?"

John walked over to him and said something quietly to him, glancing at me a few times. It looked as if he and George were having a hushed argument on stage, and I ended up coughing loudly to break the silence. With a nod of his head, John walked back to center stage, a smug look on his face. George scoffed and played the opening riff to the song, leaning closer to his microphone and singing the lyrics, "_They're really rockin' in Boston, and Pittsburgh, PA..._"

Everyone in the club cheered, their deafening roars of delight as overpowering as booms of thunder, as the rest of the band joined in playing "Sweet Little Sixteen" by Chuck Berry. I let out a cry of joy and could care less that it was Charlie I was dancing with; I _loved_ this song, and shouted over the music in John's direction, "Great song, you tossers!"

John laughed and sent a look over to Paul that practically said, "I told you so!" George's singing almost gave me the chills, but I thought he had a fantastic voice. It wasn't beautiful, and it wasn't perfect; but it had a distinctive quality that was completely unique to George; on top of that it was a great rock and roll singing voice. I glanced over at him again and winked, mouthing the words "You're brilliant!"

He let out a laugh right before he started into the short solo. I had to tear my eyes away when Charlie grabbed onto my wrist. "What? What's wrong?" I shouted to him over the music.

"Let's get out of here," he said back, tugging my arm towards the exit. I scrunched up my face in confusion and tried to ask him why, but his grip on me was strong and he was already dragging me towards the exit. As we walked through the doors and breathed in a breath of fresh air, I could hear the song coming to a close.

I ripped my wrist away from his hand. "What was that all about? What, was it getting too hot in there?"

"Sort of," he mumbled, and his eyes darkened. "You look stunning, really, you do, Peggy." He started to close the space between us and pulled me into a soft kiss. At first I just kissed back, but soon the kiss deepened and he roughly took hold of my arms, keeping me in place.

I pulled back and took in a gulp of air before demanding, "Charlie, what is this all a—" But he silenced me with another greedy kiss. I struggled against him, and my eyes snapped open as soon as his hands started to travel lower and lower.

He started to kiss my neck, ghosting over my skin and leaving me shivering in disgust. Something was definitely wrong. "We've been together for so long, Peggy, why won't you give me what I want?"

"Oh, so it's all about what _you_ want, is it?" I spat angrily, "What if _I_ don't want to? Let me go, you bloody git!" I tried flailing my arms, anything to break free of him, but he pushed me up against the sidewall of The Casbah, holding me there and leaving me immobile.

"Just shut the hell up! Don't think I didn't notice you making those eyes at that Harrison prat!" he bellowed, and his lips crashed against mine, surely leaving bruises with all the force he used. His hands started scrunching up my skirts, and I panicked. I brought a knee up and he let out a shriek of pain, his hands releasing me as he fell to the ground, clutching himself.

He was lying on my feet, so I kicked him out of the way and started to run, when his hand lashed out and fasted a grip on my ankle, sending me head first onto the ground. I banged my head hard, letting out a loud cry of pain. My vision grew fuzzy, but I fought to keep them at least open. I couldn't pass out, not at a time like this. I tried screaming out, "Help!" but it only came out half as loud as I wanted it too, and my voice sounded strangled. Charlie started to pull me back towards him, my legs scraping against the concrete and my skirts riding up. I kicked my legs about and managed to nail him in the face.

"You bitch!" he roared, and pulled me close enough to smack me across the face. I saw him raise his hand again and tried pushing him off before he could strike me once more.

At that moment, a figure jumped from behind me and tackled Charlie to the ground, punching him left and right with a cry of fury. I felt a familiar strong pair of arms lift me from the ground and pull me close to them, but my eyes were glued to the sight in front of me. The boy was mercilessly beating Charlie and he began to shout at him.

"You're a right fucking bastard! Don't you _dare_ touch her ever again! Don't look at her, speak to her, anything at all! You fucking wanker, I hope you go to Hell!"

I saw John and Stuart rush over to the two figures and pull Charlie away, making sure to grab his arms to keep him from attacking. Charlie's face was bruised with a split lip and bloody, broken nose. His eyes were closed, and he was clearly unconscious. I heard the person holding me mumbled something to someone next to him and I was now in the arms of someone much smaller. My eyes were beginning to focus and I saw Paul rush to hold back the other boy.

"Are you all right, Peggy?" It was Cynthia's voice, meaning she was holding me. "My god, you're bleeding. Let's get you to a doctor."

"No!" I rasped and broke away from her, rushing over to Paul. I could see clearer, but things were still a bit hazy. I had to see who saved me. As I approached, I somehow had a feeling that I knew from the start who it was, but I needed to confirm it. The boy Paul helped up was none other than George, his face red and his eyes wild with rage. But as soon as he saw me, his expression softened and he took a few deep breaths before speaking.

"Peggy, what did he do to you? How far did he go? Did he—did he...?" he asked frantically, looking from the place on my head that hit the pavement, to the swelling bruise on my cheek, down to the scrapes on my legs.

I shook my head. "No, he just kissed me and tried to—Christ, he tried to _rape_ me, but he didn't. He sort of tripped me, and I fell and hit my head, and..." I trailed off and started to cry. The shock was just getting to me, and I felt frightened. What if they _hadn't_ shown up?

George wrapped his arms around me and held me close to his chest as I sobbed audibly. My tears flowed out like a broken dam, soaking the front of his shirt in blotches but I didn't care—I was sure he didn't entirely mind either. I felt considerably more safer tucked into George's embrace, and I could almost forget what had just happened. My small hands clutched tufts of his shirt and jacket, wrinkling them along with my tears; and when I closed my eyes, I could see Charlie's enraged expression, one that made my grip on George's shirt tighten. But when I tensed at the recollection, George only pulled me closer, if that was even possible, and gently rocked me back and forth. It was the most comforting feeling I had ever experienced. From the corner of my eye I could see Paul patting George's shoulder before walking away over to John, Stu and the unconscious Charlie.

"Shhh, it's all right now, I'm here. He won't ever touch you again, love, promise. Don't worry, I've got you," he said soothingly as he rubbed my back. He turned his head to look over at Paul, Stu and John, who were debating on what to do with Charlie. "I'd toss him into the river Mersey meself," he scoffed, and if I hadn't been so terrified, I would have laughed at his comment.

They finally settled on leaving him in the alley beside the Casbah, and Paul gave him a swift kick to the ribs once more before we left. He spat on him and growled, "Hope you feel that when you come 'round, you bastard."

I was still clinging to George when we walked back to the Casbah. Instead of going down into the club, we went to the upper level, which was the café, and the second story was the home of Mona Best and her family. He sat me down on the couch in the front room, sitting beside me.

"Hey, Mona! Help us out here," Stu called up the stairs. Within minutes, Mona was rushing down with the loud clomping of her footsteps, muttering to herself.

"What have you lads done now," she mumbled, before looking up at me and at the bleeding wound on the side of my head. "Bloody _hell_, what happened here? Oh, I'll get the bandages and a washcloth." She ran quickly up the stairs, rummaging around for rubbing alcohol, bandages, and anything else she needed.

Paul came over to me, glancing briefly at the hands I had clutching the front of George's leather jacket. "Sorry, mate, but we've got to get our instruments. We'll be back in a second." He then turned to me and explained, "We sort of got up and left in a hurry, Gerry and the Pacemakers are playing now."

George and I locked eyes, and without breaking the gaze, he gently pulled my hands away from his jacket. "Be back soon," he uttered softly, and disappeared down into the club with Paul, John, and Stu.

Cynthia was now sitting where George just was, and was stroking my hair. "You're lucky George saw Charlie lead you out of the club," she told me. "When they finished the song, he started arguing with the others on stage and before long, he just put his guitar down and ran out after you. Tell me if I'm crossing the line by saying this, but I really think that boy _does_ fancy you."

The corners of my lips pulled up into a grateful smile, and I felt the tears streaming down my face all over again. "I'm lucky to have him as a friend," I commented. Mona came back downstairs and handed a bowl with warm water and a washcloth to Cynthia.

"Okay, here's what I'm going to do," Mona began, "I'm going to clean your wound, dab it with a bit of alcohol, then bandage it up. Cynthia, dear, can you please clean up the scratches on her legs?"

Both of them soon got to work, and I hissed when Mona finally put the alcohol on the wound. The boys had returned by then, setting their instruments against the wall and watching Mona and Cynthia clean up my wounds.

I hated the silence, so I decided to ask, "Where's Dot, Paul?"

My friend seemed surprised that I was asking a question like that right now, but answered, "She's still inside. Talking with Rory Storm's sister or something."

After Mona placed a bandage on my head and Cynthia was done with the scrapes on my legs, I stood up, leaning against Cynthia. My vision was fine now, but I felt extremely tired and worn out. Paul came over and helped me over to the door, grabbing his guitar in the process.

"Come on, let's get you home," he said. He turned to the others and we both bid them all good bye.

But I suddenly shrugged Paul's arm off of my shoulders and went over to hug all of them. Mona hugged me back tightly and told me to be careful, and Cynthia did the same. When I hugged Stuart, he seemed shocked that I had really acknowledged him; I didn't talk to him much and didn't entirely know him.

"Thanks, really, for helping and everything. I'm sorry you had to end the gig so early though."

He grinned down at me. "No problem, glad we just stopped him, hey? Beside, I'm a shite bass player," he said and chuckled.

"Damn right he is!" John hollered and bounded over to hug me. "That bastard'll definitely fuck off now, he probably won't even remember what happened to him when he wakes up."

I threw my arms around him and hugged him. "Ta, John. I won't even stop your foul language in gratitude," I joked.

When I pulled away, I went over to hug George, who was shyly looking over at me. I wondered how someone so furious not even an hour ago could suddenly become so gentle and timid. "Especially you, George," I whispered in his ear, "Thank you so much. And... you were right. He wasn't as good as he seemed to be."

George was silent as I returned to Paul's side and we walked home. The whole time we walked, Paul hand his arm linked with mine, and didn't let go the whole way back. It was a quiet walk back, and I was running the night's events through my mind once again.

At last in front of our houses, I started for Paul's house. "I'm not going to go in there and have me mum worry about me. I'm tired, and I just want to sleep. Let's have a sleep over," I suggested, and he didn't object.

* * *

_Who here saw that ending coming, raise your hands! All right now those of you who are glad that Charlie's now out of the way so he and Peggy can mingle... raise your hands ;)  
So, tell me what you thought and how you felt! Did you like that I just booted Charlie, or did you want him to stay? (Sorry if you liked him, but this _is_ a George Harrison story) Did you catch where Ringo was? :) And who could that rude boy in the audience be? (That's not entirely relevant to the story, just wondering who you guys thought it was or could be :) )_

_Please, please, please, PLEASE! Give me feedback and constructive criticism is always welcome! I would like to know how I can make this story better! Leaving ideas for the story are also welcome, though it is not always guaranteed that those ideas will appear in the story. But I can try :)_

_Now, all of you Lennon fans in the U.S., are you going to go watch "Nowhere Boy" this Friday in theaters? I know I am! :) (Even though I've already seen it... I still love it.)_

_"I'm going parading before it's too late!"_


	15. 14: My Head Is Filled With Things To Say

_Hello everyone, how are you all doing? :) I would like to say thank you so much for all of the reviews I received! It made my day to read each of them, and so, here is the next chapter! Now in this next chapter, we are introduced to a very interesting location: John and Stuart's flat. Anyone remember things they heard about their flat? Like maybe... not much furniture? Untidy? Ashtrays all around? And a peculiar piece of furniture... let's see if you find it :) (though I've very sure you will, it sticks out like a sore thumb!) And of course, we see hints of Ye Cracke Pub! (Ye is pronounced like the word "The," the "Y" is a thorn, for those who were confused!)_

_Also, just a precaution, the profanity in the story has obviously gone up, and that's mainly because they're older and you all know The Beatles weren't innocent lads ;) Sorry if it offends you, but I'm not changing it!_

_As always, I only own the O'Higgins and previous original characters... for now ;) Enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, or rather afternoon, I wasn't resting on the firm surface of Paul's bedroom floor covered with a blanket. You'd think that you'd wake up in the general space you fell asleep in, but I don't ever remember climbing up from the floor and into Paul's bed, because there's where I was when I opened my eyes. I think so, anyways. Light was flooding in through the window next to the bed, nearly blinding me as I slowly opened my eyes, and I was clutching Flopsy tightly against my chest.

Wait, I thought to myself, window next to the bed? That can't be. Paul's bed was against the wall opposite to the window. And clutching Flopsy? That's impossible. I left Flopsy at my house, on my bed. How did he get over to Paul's house?

I hastily rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked around the room. Confusion swept over me as I found that I wasn't in Paul's room at all, not even in his house! I was lying in _my_ own bed, on the second floor of _my_ house. How could that have happened? From what Paul told me when we had sleepovers before, I never was a sleepwalker; I was more of a smack-you-in-the-middle-of-the-night sort of sleeper. There was a slim chance that I would have sleep walked and made it down the stairs, much less Paul's front door to get over to my house.

"Well look who's up! I'd say good morning, but it's already past one o'clock," said a familiar voice. The bed shifted as a weight was pressed down at the end of it, and I looked over to find Paul sitting at the foot of the bed. "Sleep well?"

Raising my arms and stretching them out towards the ceiling, I let out a loud, shameless yawn. "Mmhm," I answered as I brought my arms back down. "But how did I get here? I remember I was at your house sleeping over, and now I'm in my own bed? Did I miss something?"

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Right, yeah, well you were waving your arms about a lot in your sleep—not like that's a big shocker—but you were crying as well, so I brought you here. Thought you'd be more comfy that way. Though you'd might want to loose some weight, love, I was having a hard time carrying you over here!" Even though he was joking, I still threw a pillow, smacking him right in the head. He let out a cry of protest and corrected, "I was only joking, Pegs!"

I frowned after I sat up, realizing that my head didn't hurt as much anymore. In fact, someone had even changed the bandages over the wound on the side of my head. As I was twiddling my thumbs and staring at them, the events from last night came flooding into my mind at such a rapid pace that I could almost feel them crushing the walls of my skull. "I can't believe it, though," I mumbled. "Christ, if it weren't fer you all, I'd be—"

But Paul held up his hand to halt my speech. "I don't exactly want to imagine what would have happened if we _didn't_ show up. You're safe, at least," he said and smiled reassuringly at me. "Now, I know you didn't want to have yer mum worry about you, but I thought you should know..."

At that moment, the door to Paul's room burst open and there stood my mother, father, and brother in the doorway. Mum's eyes were shiny with tears and brimmed with a flaring red as she sobbed and came over to pull me into a bone-crushing embrace. Papa and Thomas walked into the room but stood back, waiting for my mother to calm down.

"Why didn't you tell us anything?" Mum cried as she stroked my hair. "You didn't come home after going to the club, didn't even tell us you were at Paul's house! That Norwood boy is horrible; I knew it from the start! It's no wonder he was kicked out of his school in London!" She resumed her blubbering and her grip tightened on me.

I shot a confused glance at Paul. "How did you know he was kicked out? I never told you any of that!" I pulled away from my mother and looked at her inquiringly.

My father, who was awkwardly shifting his feet silently until then, coughed into his hand and spoke up. "The bobbies found Charlie yesterday morning passed out and bloodied in that alley next to that club you lads play in. 'Course they got a hold of Lennon and he told them the whole story."

I snorted and added, "Lennon, that poor sod, he's always getting questioned when there's trouble, isn't he?" From the way Paul raised his eyebrows at me, I could tell I missed a detail or two about what my father said. After thinking about it, I realized that something about that explanation didn't sound quite right. Then it dawned on me. "Wait, Papa, don't you mean _this_ morning? Yesterday night is when this all happened." I furrowed my eyebrows at him, hoping he was mistaken.

Mum looked over at Paul and lightly smacked him on the shoulder. "Paul, dearie, you didn't _tell_ her? Oh, goodness!" She threw up her hands dramatically and then turned to me. "Peggy darling, that happened two days ago. You've been asleep for a day and a half!"

My eyes widened to the size of saucers and I immediately scrambled out of bed. "Bleedin' Christ, have I really? I can't sleep anymore, I need to get out of bed!" My family laughed and Paul slung an arm around my shoulders, trying to calm me down. All of us descended downstairs into the kitchen, but Paul and I stayed farther back on the way down.

"Glad you aren't under a lot of shock, Pegs. And because I know this will put you at ease for a bit, I thought you'd like to know that Charlie's been sent back to London," Paul informed me as we took each step down the stairs slowly. We were going to slow that we eventually decided to sit towards the top of the stairs and talk.

I let out a great sigh of relief and felt a great weight lift from my shoulders. "Good, I don't think I could ever stand to see his face again."

Paul laced his fingers together and propped up his arms onto his knees, focusing his gaze at the floor. "Peggy, did he ever tell you _why_ he was kicked out of his old school in London?" He turned his head to face me, straight-faced and tight-lipped, completely serious.

Shaking my head, I answered, "No, he said he didn't want to talk about it so I never brought it up again. Why, do _you_ know what happened?"

He took a deep breath and nodded, beginning his tale, "Charlie was after some girl back in London, but she didn't fancy him or anything. Anyways, she ended up going out with some other bloke, and Charlie beat that poor sod bloody, and started stalking that girl. He was drunk one night and tried to—well, tried to do to her what he tried to do with you. The police let him off 'cause his family's rich. He moved here to start fresh. And look where that bastard is now." He balled his hands into fists so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

I hugged Paul and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "He's gone, don't worry. Well, that's actually more something you should be telling _me,_ but I feel... free, now." A smile crept up to the corners of my lips and I stood, ready to walk down into the kitchen.

Paul reached out to grab my arm, and I turned around to see him standing up, towering over me. "I don't mean to be pushy, but now that yer rid of Charlie... are you ready to give George a chance? I'm sure he still fancies you, after that stunt he pulled to save you that night."

My cheeks flooded with colour and I looked down at my bare feet, wiggling my toes and prolonging the pause before I answered him. I had been with Charlie for nearly a year, and all this time, I was in love with George. Jesus, I've had my eye on George since I was _twelve_, and at last I was free to tell him, now that Charlie was out of the picture. But my thoughts were all jumbled in my head, and my smile faded into a frown. George still had a girlfriend, even if she was a devilish snake. I wouldn't dare break them up. Even so, right now I was in a state where I wasn't sure if I was ready to tackle another relationship at the moment.

"I don't think so, Paulie. Not just yet, anyways. I need some time to think about all of this."

Paul's expression matched mine and he inquired, "Wait, are you saying you don't fancy George anymore?"

The way he looked so appalled coaxed a laugh from me and I shook my head fervently. "No! Bloody hell, what were you thinking? What girl in her right mind would stop loving _that_ bloke?"

Soon Paul was giving me a coy smile and he snickered like a little schoolboy. "Aww, Pegs, did you mean that? I knew you liked him, but now you _love_ him? Since when?"

I tried to shrug as nonchalantly as I could and continued my descent to the kitchen. "Oh, just while I was dating Charlie. But don't you dare tell him, _James_, dear boy, or I'll cripple ya!"

"Fine, fine. Wh—hey! Don't go calling me James!"

::::::::::::::::::::

Later that day, The Quarrymen had another rehearsal. This time instead of it being held at Paul's house, it was at Stu's flat in Gambier Terrace father out in Liverpool. It was close to the Art Institute, the school that John, Stu, and Cynthia all attended. Normally I wouldn't go out to other practices unless they were at the McCartney home, but I wanted to go along with them for dinner later that night—Paul said that they were trying to come up with a new band name and invited me to come with.

Stu's flat wasn't the cleanest in Liverpool, that's for sure; there were little dust balls in the corner, beer bottles scattered about the floor (though they did cleverly set up a few of them so they spelled out their initials—JL and SS), and what surprised me and initially spooked me was that they had a coffin leaning up against the wall. Even more, they dismissed it as if it were normal to have a coffin in a flat, pointing out their furnishings to us during their "grand tour" in this order: "There's the mattresses, a couple of chairs, beer bottles, coffin, and ash trays. Make yerselves at home." The mattresses were laid out on the floor and all in all there was very little furnishing, but that allowed them more room to practice and it only had the bare necessities; possibly less.

John, who had always insisted on treating me like a child, greeted me by hastily ruffling up my hair. "And the little bird lives then, hey?"

I pushed his hands away and swatted at them. "Lay off, John, I'm sixteen, not five!"

But I laughed nonetheless and with my sketchpad and a pencil in hand, sat on the mattress beside George, who was carefully tuning his guitar. When he saw me sit down, he looked over at me and gave me that same crooked grin; the same one that started to make my breath hitch in my throat, my heart speed up, and made me incredibly nervous. How I managed to keep my composure after all this time, I wasn't so sure. Sometimes when he looked at me, I would think, Oh great, I bet he knows I'm in love with him! He can see right through me! But he would just smile and carry on as he normally did.

Following his smile, he greeted, "Hullo, Peggy. How's the side of your head feel?"

My hand flew to the wound out of instinct, and there was now a smaller bandage on it. "All daisies and sunshine, Georgie," I said sarcastically, but didn't give any attempt to hide my smile. "Again, thanks for saving me. I really do owe you one."

George quickly adverted his gaze over to the headstock of his guitar, and his hands cranked one of the tuning pegs every so slightly to reach the correct pitch. "No, you don't," he said softly as he turned his attention back to me. "I didn't do it as a favor, or as a chore. I did it because I _needed_ to. Because I couldn't stand there and let him hurt you. I—"

"Oy, get yer ass up from there and let's play, George!" John shouted from across the room as he strummed out a few chords. Stu was leaning against the same wall as John, and Paul was standing off by the opposite wall, running his hands across the strings and plucking out nonsense notes.

The young boy groaned and looked over at John, who was giving him a stern look that threatened to burn a hole through him. He spun his head around to look back at me and whispered, "Sorry. Can was continue this talk later?" and rose from his seat beside me.

If I haven't said this before, I'll say it now: watching those lads practice was always great fun. There was creativity bouncing every which way from them, especially John and Paul, and at first a new song might start out shaky and lacking. But as they progressed and evolved the song, it was like magic. I would hear a fragment of a song at one rehearsal, and then weeks or even months later, though sometimes all it would take was a few hours, I'll hear it again as a finished product and fall in love with it.

As I listened to them practice, I doodled little cartoons of them rehearsing, and designed a few outfits I thought they would look good in, one of those designs including a set of collarless suits. Deciding that John would be the most likely candidate to detest these suits, I sketched him in one of them, a look of pure disgust on his face, as he seemed to attempt to tug off the fabric. One day, I thought to myself, I'm going to put that poor bastard in one of these outfits, whether he likes it or not!

After they practiced, which was a good few hours, it was around seven o'clock and we were all ready to head to a diner to eat. Cynthia had stopped by a couple hours before, which I was thankful for, and we chatted while we walked. Of course, John always had an arm snaked around her waist, so he was constantly butting into our conversations and adding in his own hilarious two bits worth.

"So, Cyn, how's college? Mum's been bugging me about what I want to be when I go to college, so I thought I'd just find out what this art business is all about," I said as we strolled.

Cynthia answered, "I think it's quite fun, but _this_ boy here is always taking my brushes and paints!" She gently nudged John with her elbow as we both giggled. John, on the other hand, feigned a heart attack and stumbled about the street, clutching his chest.

"Honestly, mate," Stu began, "you can beat the shite out of any Ted in town yet you go into cardiac arrest when Cyn taps you in the ribs with her elbow? I just might have to boot meself out of this group in that case." That elicited a few chuckles from the rest of us, and Stuart, shooting John a smug smile, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and prepared to light one.

John came over and slapped the cancer stick out of his friend's mouth—and the ciggy just happened to hit Paul in the head—and protested, "Now wait just a minute, you can't boot yerself out of _my_ band! It's _my_ band!"

"Well said, that," George muttered to me, making both of us grin.

"Besides, Cyn probably doesn't want a bloke who's so sensitive to a simple touch that you just go overboard with a reaction," Stu continued.

"That's not what she said last night!" John roared with laughter, clapping his friend harshly on the back.

With a groan, Stu picked up the pace and was now walking beside George and I, as John wrapped his arms around a now horribly mortified Cynthia. Stu glanced at me and rolled his eyes in John's direction playfully.

I pointed to him and said, "You have to admit, mate, you walked right into that one."

"Peggy kid," he paused to pull out another cigarette and light it, this time making sure John wouldn't knock it out from his lips and waste a perfectly good smoke, and continued, "you don't understand what it's like _living_ with that crazy bastard." But he smiled fondly as he said it.

The diner was small but was cozy and full of lights and young people dancing to songs playing from the jukebox in the back. John had originally suggested we go to Ye Cracke Pub instead, but remembered that Paul, George and I weren't eighteen yet and settled on this diner. He originally protested that we could still sneak in and pretend we were eighteen, but I convinced him, with help from Cynthia, that the diner was better, and that I hated alcohol anyways. We all sat at a booth, and Stu and Paul had to pull up chairs to sit at the edge of the table. After a waitress came by and we all ordered drinks, a young man stalked up to us with one hand in his pocket and a Coke in the other. He slouched as he walked, and his eyes had a sleepy droop to them.

"Well look, it's John Lennon," he said with a lazy smirk. He took a large gulp of his Coke, never taking his eyes off of John. "Think about my offer?"

John scoffed and held up a hand to him, signaling for him to wait. He turned to us, mainly Paul, George, and Stuart, and explained, "All right, Cass here said he'd get us a drummer if we change our name to—" He turned and glared at the young man, "To 'Long John and the Silver Beetles.' Think it's a load of rubbish? I think it's complete gobshite."

Paul's jaw dropped and he cried, "Yer joking, mate. What the hell d'you think we are, a load of pirates? Forgot it, Brian."

The man frowned, but shrugged it off and took another sip of his Coke. "Suit yerself, then. If you change your mind, you know where to find me." He walked off and returned to his table of friends towards the back of the diner.

I turned to George, who was seated beside me, for answers. He must have seen the confusion written all over my face because he quickly answered, "That's Brian Cass, from a band around here called Cass and the Casanovas. We performed a couple of times at the Jacaranda club and he's there. His manager might even manage us too."

John ran a hand quickly through his hair and scowled. "But we still need a bloody drummer! Cass really needs to just stop fucking around and give us a bloody drummer!" His gaze quickly went to me and he waved an accusing finger in my face, imitating an old granny's voice, "And don't you go telling me to fix me language, little missy! I've seen foul language coming from yer mouth so you've got no room to talk!"

All of us laughed and this and I piped up, "John, you'd make a fine old geezer! But me granny's got an Irish accent, you need to work on that."

::::::::::::::::::::

When we left the diner, Paul didn't want to go home yet, so he joined John and Stu on their journey to Ye Cracke pub, devising a plan to sneak us under aged kids in. They invited George and I go to along, but I wasn't up for it; John was talking about stopping by a party along the way and that definitely involved alcohol. Seeing as my first experience with the intoxicating drink wasn't so wonderful, I declined and decided to go home. George decided not to join the boys either and accompanied me on my walk back to Forthlin road.

Right before we left, Paul came over to me and put his arm around my shoulders as he always did, and pulled me closer so he could talk to me in a low voice without having the others eavesdrop.

"Listen here, Peggy Sue, I know you said you needed time to think about you and George and other worldly junk, but go easy on him, hey? Don't start pushing him away or anything."

I withdrew slightly to look at him and giggled. "Paulie, you aren't playing match maker, are you?"

He pulled completely away from me and nudged my shoulder with his. "Aw, lay off, and don't let me find that you two have gone off somewhere else!" And with that, he gently pushed me towards George as he and the two older boys walked off in the other direction towards Stu's flat.

I rolled my eyes and turned to George. "That boy! Sometimes he can drive me up a wall. Anyways, thanks again for walking home with me, George."

As we started walking, George grinned sheepishly and replied, " 'S no problem. Just thought you'd like to be seen walking about with a really good looking bloke." He stood up taller, mockingly straightened his collar and shirt, and gave me a smug grin; but I could tell he was trying to keep from laughing at the joke.

Putting my hand up against my forehead, I pretended to search for someone and asked, "Good looking bloke? Where is he? I'd like one of those." I squinted my eyes and turned to look at George, who ended up laughing and shaking his head at our silliness.

"Aw, you hurt me pride, Peggy Sue!" he cried, pouting and giving me puppy dog eyes. The funny thing was, his bottom lip jutted out slightly to the side, just like his crooked grin, and I giggled.

"I was just joking, Georgie." As we walked, we passed the park in Allerton. The same park where I had my first kiss with George on my fourteenth birthday. Granted, it was a bit of a tipsy and jumbled kiss, but it was the one that sparked my interest in him. My eyes wandered to the exact tree we were sitting against nearly three years ago.

George must have caught me staring at the park, because he suddenly asked, "Did you want to go to the park 'fore going home?"

He didn't even wait for my answer; he was already walking in the direction of the park, beckoning me to follow him.

I was unsure at first, but nonetheless, I went after him and made a beeline for the swing set. There were only two swings, as it wasn't a large park, but sitting on the cold seat of the swing and rocking back and forth gently brought a huge smile to my face. How long has it been since I played at this park? It must have been far too long. I saw George approach from the corner of my eye as he sat his tall lanky form down on the swing beside me. The cold January air caused our breaths to come out in white puffs, and George leaned his head back slightly to let out a white trail of steam into the air, watching it disappear. We giggled at it for a moment, and then fell silent. The only sounds to be heard were the soft breeze and the occasional creak of the chain link swings.

"I was so scared."

My head snapped up and whirled around to look at George. His voice had been so soft that I almost thought he might not have said anything at all. He didn't meet my gaze; his eyes were downcast at his feet, his head hanging low.

"That night, in the alley by the Casbah where Charlie hurt you. I just—I panicked even when I saw him leading you outside. The worst things were running through me mind, and I was so _scared_, Peggy. Scared that he would break you, scared that I'd get there too late. I couldn't stand the thought of him hurting you or...doing anything horrible to you."

I reached out and set a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it in gentle circles. "But you _did_ get there in time, George, and I couldn't be any more grateful."

He finally lifted his head to look at me, and he looked so worried and so nervous. But he offered up a shaky smile and chuckled wryly. "Christ, an' when I saw that bastard on top of you, _hitting_ you, me mind just went wild and the only thing I could think of was how much he deserved to be in Hell. I felt so fucking angry and wanted him to feel ten times as much pain than he caused you. But at the same time, I was so _relieved_ that you were okay. That wanker didn't deserve you; you're too good for him."

I bit my lip, taking in everything he was saying. He sounded so hurt and worried over the whole matter, and I was deeply touched. "I was scared too," I confessed. "But it's over now, and really, without you, who knows what would have happened? I just never thought he'd hurt me like that."

George placed his hand over mine that was on his shoulder, and he stroked his thumb over it, sending shivers up my spine. "I'd _never_ hurt you, Peggy."

His eyes locked with mine, and they seemed to draw me closer to him. My heart was beating twice as fast as normal, and I thought it would jump right out of my chest. My cheeks were heating up and I'm sure they were a vibrant red at that moment. As we both leaned in closer to each other, I felt my eyelids slowly droop.

We were only inches away now, when a loud, drunken, obnoxious voice called out, "Peggy Suuuuuuuuue! Is tha' you there? Peggy's me bestestest... Bestest? Bestest friend, didja know tha', Johnny?"

The loud voice startled me and I fell right off the swing, groaning in pain and embarrassment. We were so close! I shook off my anger and saw that George was holding out his hand to me, so I took it and he helped me up to my feet, dusting off some of the sand from my skirts.

I turned to the source of the voice and was met with a _very_ drunken Paul hanging onto the front of John's jacket. Paul was stumbling along and tripping over his feet, while John looked sober for the most part and was swatting away Paul's hands.

"What the hell, I thought you were at Ye Cracke or a club or something?" I called out to them, rushing over to help my friends. George was following close behind, but I could tell he was stifling a laugh at the sight of them. John looked like he was ready to deck Paul, and Paul looked like the happiest drunk to ever grace Liverpool with his presence.

"Yer mate here can't old his damn liquor! He's a bloody lightweight!" John answered in an irritated voice, handing him off to me. "We _were_ at Ye Cracke, and we were drinking, but your kid here decided to have a contest with one of Stu's mates." He wrinkled his nose when Paul breathed on him, waving his hand to get the stench of alcohol away.

"Looks like he won," George said, chuckling.

For a split second, John seemed to forget that he just had to drag his drunken friend through Liverpool late at night and responded admiringly, "Yeah, downed four beers in three minutes!" Then he went back to being bothered, "But he was annoying the hell out of us, so now here, you take him home!" John patted Paul's shoulder and continued, "Hope you learned yer lesson, son! Off with you all, then."

"Thanks, John," I said to the older boy, smiling gratefully. He did a silly bow and waved good-bye to us, walking off back in the direction he came from. When I looked back over at Paul, I found that he was snoring lightly. "Christ, and now he's passed out."

George helped me carry Paul back to our street, and we stopped in front of his house. It wasn't so difficult getting him there with George's help, but I did feel incredibly embarrassed the whole way there. I had almost _kissed_ George, and now I couldn't even bring it up. Again! I can't bring up a kiss with him _again._

I knocked on the door, and was thankful it was Mike who answered the door instead of his father. We successfully drug Paul up the stairs, despite his twitching and constant shifting in his unconscious state, and into his bed without Mr. McCartney waking up from his sleep.

"Dad would go barmy if he found out Paul's that pissed," Mike commented with a chuckle.

George walked me to my doorstep, and I didn't know what to do. Did we just say good-bye? Or did we hug? Or did we kiss? I couldn't think of a proper good-bye after what happened at the park.

"I'll see you then, Peggy Sue. After school, as usual," he said with a grin. What he did next surprised me, though. He leaned down ever so slowly and placed a ghost of a kiss on my lower cheek that barely brushed the corner of my lips. He slowly moved over and when his lips touched the shell of my ear, he whispered softly, "Good night."

It must have been the most electrifying "Good night" I'd ever been told, because it left me with a tingle running down my spine and to the tips of my fingers and toes. As he pulled away, he gave me a nod and walked away back to his house.

I was glad in a way that George and I didn't kiss. I wasn't ready for another relationship anyways, even if it was with George. Besides, he still had that faltering girlfriend of his. But I knew I was madly in love with him, and hoped that one day, we'd be more than friends. After all this time, I wasn't going to give up on him.

* * *

_Whew, that was quite a long chapter, wasn't it? But all the more for you to enjoy (hopefully) until next week! So tell me, what did you think? Did you like it? Hate it (if you do hate it tell me why so I know what to fix!)? Find out that the boy/girl you like is in love with you too because of reading this chapter? ;) Feel strongly towards a certain character? Dislike a certain character? Well then by all means, please give me a review! Tell me what you would like to see, maybe? Who knows, maybe it will appear in the story :) Suggestions and constructive criticism are always welcome!_

_By the way, did anyone see Nowhere Boy in theatres? I just did on Saturday night, and it was amazing watching it on the big screen :) I recommend it to any Beatles fan! ((ºLº)) John Lennon face :)_

_P.S: Can you guess where the chapter title is from? :)_

_"Jeremy? Hilary? Boob? Ph.D?"_


	16. 15: Aw, Honey Don't!

_Hello again, and thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! Over 100 reviews now, and I'm thrilled that so many of you enjoy this story! :) It really does make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :)_

_I have more Stu in this story, because, well, he's a doll :) And there may be another change in my updating schedule, but I'm not so sure as of right now. Slight writer's block... I know where I want it to go, just not happy with some stuff I've written in the middle for later chapters. If anyone wants to give suggestions and ideas so I won't have to put this story on hiatus, you are more than welcome! :)_

_I only own the O'Higgins and other fictional characters, and the song "Lewis Boogie" belongs to The Killer himself, Jerry Lee Lewis. It's a catchy song, you should listen to it! :) Now enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

As I have said before, all of us hated school. We dreaded waking up in the morning to waste our time dragging out feet across the pavement in order to get to school, we despised sitting still in a classroom for hours and hours listening to the teacher drone on and on, and we loathed all of the time-wasting _and_ time consuming homework we were assigned. It was a drag and cut into our day; George and Paul never did their homework, and Mike was starting to catch that habit. I, however, tried my best with it, but still could never focus long enough to get high marks on my exams.

It was the day after winter holiday had ended, in January of 1960, and we were taking a ten-minute break from class. Students were rushing to their friends to talk and chat about whatever vacations they took and what they did during Christmas. I, however, didn't have friends in my class and simply sat at my desk, doodling pictures of John, Paul, George, and Stu on stage at The Cavern playing a song. John was barking orders at Paul to play louder, Paul was glaring at him and yelling at him to shut up and sing, George was just launching into a solo, and Stu had his lips turned up into a playful smile and watching his bass carefully to make sure he played the note correctly. I drew them in their leather jackets and drainpipe trousers, making sure to give Stu sunglasses.

Unfortunately for me, I was paying attention enough in class to hear Ruth Morrison—yes, George's _bloody _girlfriend—bragging in that snotty voice of hers about how she went to London during the winter holiday and how some random lad named Robert bought her jewelry for Christmas. To me, her voice was like fingernails scraping slowly and sharply against the chalkboard at the front of the class. It screeched like a squeaky, rusty wheel, and my ears almost couldn't take it anymore.

I was ready to just get up and leave to go down to the loo, when I heard her obnoxious voice gush, "...It was _so_ beautiful! I'm _so_ glad I've got Robert; at least he's got money! George barely carries two quid with him, and pays more attention to his stupid little _band_ than he does me! And George is _such_ a Teddy Boy, with his stupid guitar he always carries around. Do I _look_ like I care about love songs? Money and diamonds are what say how much you love a girl, not songs!"

And that's just about all it takes, really, to make me snap.

I stood up abruptly from my seat, knocking over my chair and a few pencils from my desk, and marched over to her, frowning and creasing my brow. "Were you born being a bitch, or did you get dropped on your head as a kid? You're a right bloody whore, talking only about stupid diamonds and money and other shite! Did you ever _care_ about George? Because yer breaking his heart, something you wouldn't know about, cause ye've got a bloody black hole where your heart _should_ be!" I was fuming with anger now, and my speech had slipped from a Liverpudlian accent into an Irish accent. I didn't get angry enough for that too often, but it happened naturally and I was thoroughly furious with her.

Ruth glared her eyes at me and demanded, "Who the hell are you? No one asked you, this doesn't even concern you!" Her group of friends that were crowded around her were now staring intently at me, as if hoping for a fight.

"You were talking about _my_ friend, and that concerns me! Honestly, your fucking annoying voice was already driving me mind mad, but you just _had_ to go and talk shite about my friend!" My voice was rising and soon I was nearly screaming at her. "He's the sweetest boy anyone'll ever meet, and I can't believe you wasted his time like that! And yer complaining that he played you _love songs?_ What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with you? Don't you ever talk like that about George again, you hear?" I felt my face grow hot with rage and I was even breathing heavily now.

My speech apparently didn't faze her at all, because she merely snorted with laughter and replied, "Of course _you_ wouldn't understand, you're into rock and roll and all those other corrupting teenage fads! I'll be rich and living with servants one day while you'll be right down at the bottom with those stupid rocker lads." She gave me a disgustingly sweet smile, one that was obviously fake and mocking, and she poked me on my nose as if I were a child.

Whoa. Whoa. _Whoa._ She just contaminated my nose with her acidic touch. That bitch was definitely asking for me to give her a shiner.

I growled and lunged at her, punching her square in the jaw. She let out a cry of pain and surprise as I tackled her to the floor, hitting a desk on the way down, and smacked her about mercilessly. I made sure that her pretty little face would be black and blue when I was through, and all she could do to me was pull my hair and scream.

::::::::::::::::::::

I'm not too sure if you've ever been in that situation where you're a little confused as to whether your parents would give you a pat in the back for standing up to a bully, or tie your ears to the back of their car and drag you around town as punishment. My parents certainly weren't excited at all when they received a call from the school office, asking them to pick me up and talk with my teacher. Hell, I wasn't happy to have to sit in the stuffy, suffocating office waiting room either. I could hear my parents arguing with the school's headmaster in the other room, raising their voices; Ruth's snooty, prim and proper parents were there as well. The headmaster was a very fair person, and when he heard that Ruth had laid a hand on me first (thought technically, it was just one finger and a poke to my nose), he let both of us off the hook without any suspensions. I was only given one detention for tomorrow, and that didn't bother me at all; that actually meant I would get out of the school the same time as George at the boy's school across the street.

When my parents and I walked out of the school building, they were muttering to each other about the event. My father wasn't angry with me at all, because even though I never told him, I'm pretty sure he knew what was going on between George and I. He knew I was just standing up to her, and didn't feel the need to punish me. In his eyes, I did nothing wrong at all. My mother, on the other hand, had—what do you know—grabbed my by the ear as we crossed the street, scolding me about how lucky I was that the headmaster didn't kick me out of the school.

And who would be waiting right outside the doors for me with his guitar propped up on his knee? None other than Paul himself. When I explained to him why I was so late getting out of school, and the appearance of my parents, he broke out into fits of laughter.

"That's what jealousy does to you, Peggy Mae! Must've been a good punch, 'cause I saw her walking home just now with her parents and she had the nastiest bruises on her cheeks!" Paul excitedly told me when I finally got home.

I started giggling myself and replied, "She had it coming to her, and someone needed to dent her pretty little face." My giggles ceased when I thought about George. Would he be angry with me for hurting her? Or would he be just as good-natured as Paul and I were right now? I didn't want to do anything to upset him, and that was the last thing I needed. But he said they were going through a rough patch a while ago; maybe it didn't get any better?

Then two weeks later after school, George accompanied us home and stayed at Paul's house to practice some songs for an upcoming gig that weekend. He didn't seem to show any signs that he knew what happened to Ruth, so I didn't feel like mentioning it to him. Not just yet, anyways.

When we got to the house, we saw John and Stu waiting right outside the door, both with their instruments in hand and their leather jackets on with the collar popped.

"About time, you lot! We've been standing here for hours!" John barked at us, but judging by his playful smirk, we could tell he wasn't really angry with us.

Stu chuckled and leaned against the wall beside the door, shaking his head. I noticed that he always managed to look so cool whatever he was doing, especially because he always had his shades on. He just might have even rolled his eyes at John's comment, but I couldn't tell what his eyes were doing behind his dark sunglasses. "He's bluffing. We've only been here ten minutes."

John scoffed and nudged his friend with the end of his guitar case. When we got inside the house, only a few minutes later all of the boys were tuning in the living room, and I was sitting at the McCartney's piano, figuring out the chords to the song "Lewis Boogie" by Jerry Lee Lewis.

"That's not a C, Peggy, that's a G," Paul called to me from across the room, not even glancing at me. He was tweaking his tuning pegs and strumming the strings, trying to get in tune with George, who was sitting over on the couch and matching Paul's pitch. John was fiddling around with the tuning pegs, and was trying to help Stuart tune his bass.

I scowled and played the correct chord. "Happy, Paulie?"

"Much!"

John called over to me, "Don't worry, Peggy Sue, Paul's just a perfectionist!"

I ignored Stu and George's amused chuckles and started playing the song all over from the top, singing along, "_My name is Jerry Lee Lewis, from Louisiana, gonna do ya a little boogie on this here pia-nah! Doin' mighty fine, 'gonna make ya shake it—_"

I stopped shortly when I heard all of the boys laughing quite loudly. Slamming my hands on the keys in mock frustration, I spun around on the piano bench and crossed my arms over my chest. "Now what's so funny, lads?"

"Your voice!" Paul chortled, "It's like an Irishman trying to speak with an American Southern accent!"

"Aw, lay off, Paul, like you can do any better!"

John pointed his guitar pick at Paul and said, "Ye should hear his bloody Vaudeville voice, makes me ears bleed!" He hooted with laughter at that, earning a less than amused glace from Paul. "All right, we'll do 'Roll Over Beethoven,' because we played it like complete _shite_ last time!"

I enjoyed watching them practice, and Mike eventually came downstairs from his room to the living room where we were to listen as well. He plopped down beside me on the piano bench, his camera in hand. As I tapped my feet to the rhythm, smiling as I watched George sing lead vocals on this song, the younger McCartney brother was taking pictures left and right, eventually getting closer to take photos at different angles, or farther away to get all of them in one shot.

He took a break and sat beside me again. I could never get over how different he looked from his older brother. He didn't have as much as a baby face as Paul did, but in a strange, startling way, he did resemble Paul. I also couldn't believe how much time has passed since we first met; Mike had just turned sixteen last week and was already as tall as his brother. He bumped shoulders with me and spoke. "Didja know they changed the name of their group?"

Astonished, I whipped my head around to look at him. "Did they really? Then did they get a drummer finally?"

John must have heard my question, because he immediately halted the song and answered, "No, because we're just 'The Silver Beetles,' no 'Long John' or any rubbish like that! Cass is a bloody wanker fer thinking we'd use that pirate name. Still needs some work, but that's what we'll be called for now."

About a few hours into the practice, John called it a day because he said he had a date with Cynthia. As he, George and Stu were packing up their instruments, John was muttering on about her like no tomorrow. "She just dyed her hair again, it's this really sexy blonde colour, just like Brigitte Bardot. Now _that_ bird is incredibly sexy, I'm sure every lad in this room has wanked off to her!"

I covered my ears and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to keep out the mental image John led me to think of. "Oh my giddy aunt, John, shurrup, will you? That's the last thing I want to picture in me head!"

John snickered and turned around to face me. "Why, does it make little Peggy Sue nervous? Come 'ead, love, it's not like you don't know we wank off, it's a nat—"

"John! Can we not talk about that, please?" I could feel my neck heating up and my ears were burning red with embarrassment.

He paused and stared at me, as if trying to search me for some hidden information. I was now standing beside the piano, leaning against it, and wondered what he was thinking. Stu and George were already nearing the door, and I heard the older male call to John, "We're off, mate, aren't you coming?"

But of course, John would be the only person to ask the most mortifying question ever. "Christ, Peggy, are you a _virgin_?"

My jaw slackened and I thought it would hit the floor. My eyes were wide with astonishment, and I couldn't believe he would ask me such a thing. Right out aloud, and in front of friends, at that! What did he expect me to answer with? At least ask me privately!

I closed my mouth, setting my lips into a thin line before answering bluntly, "I'm not answering that question, you cheeky bastard! Now off with you." As soon as I finished speaking, I heard the clock in the next room chime, signaling it was eight o'clock in the evening. "Oh, great, now I've got to get going home too."

I gave a quick hug and good-bye to the McCartney brothers, and followed after John, George, and Stu, ignoring the cackles that John was giving me. As we walked down the front yard of the house, I swatted my hands at him as he kept hounding me for the answer. "Leave it, will you? I'm not answering your question!"

Feeling mildly irritated (because I knew he wasn't trying to be the biggest ass in the world, he was just being John), I left him to talk with Stu and walked beside George, who was swinging his guitar case back and forth in his hand. "Had enough of him, have you?" he jested, giving me a shy smile.

Once again, I felt my heart skip a beat when I caught sight of his smile, and I had to try and force down my blush. "It's a good thing John's well-liked with us, otherwise he'd have been booted years ago!"

"Oy, you lot can't boot me! It's _my_ band!" John corrected.

I stopped in front of my house, and George seemed to be fiddling around with his guitar case. Since John and Stu kept on walking, deep in conversation, I had almost thought that they had forgotten about us two. That was until I saw John turn his head to look back at me, winking and giving me a thumbs-up sign before waving and continuing his chat with Stu. Now I really was blushing, and was thankful that George didn't see what John did at all.

When George stood back up, he looked back and forth from my house to me, and was silent for a moment. I was about to tell him good night, but he suddenly said, "I know what you did to Ruth."

Uh-oh. Did he now? "Oh... About that, George, she was going off ab—"

"We're through. She showed up at me doorstep that same day, telling me all sorts of things about how you roughed her up. Said she's been cheating on me with some other rich bloke." He exhaled and closed his eyes before going on, "And I'm honestly not so sure if I'm broken up about it or not."

If I didn't feel guilty enough about beating up Ruth Morrison earlier, I sure did feel that way now. Because of me, she dumped George. Granted, she was cheating on him and it's probably for the best that they ended their relationship, but I didn't want to hurt George in any way. I just wanted to stand up for him and protect him. Looking at his face now, I could tell he was a bit disturbed by it.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry, George, I didn't mean for it to go that way. But the things she said, it just got my blood boiling. I felt so—so—_angry_."

George merely shrugged and set his guitar case down on the sidewalk, leaning against the small brick wall that surrounded my front yard. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, looking as if he could care less about the matter, but the look in his large brown eyes said otherwise.

"I'm not sad about her leaving, though. I've realized how little I've cared about her over the months, hell knows why I even tried to care for her. I'm just a bit shocked about her cheating on me, because it's a sort of blow to the gut, you know? Oh, well, actually, I take back that part about being shocked at her cheating on me. That was expected of her, wasn't it?" And to my surprised and delight, an amused smile graced his dismayed features, and he began to chuckle at what he said.

At this point I was giggling too, and opened my arms out to him. "Come on, you loony, you need a hug, I don't care if you're laughing, you're getting a hug!" I pounced on him and pulled him into a tight embrace, absentmindedly inhaling his scent. The smell of leather from his jacket was a given, but I loved it nonetheless. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to smell aftershave, but I never noticed it before and felt intoxicated by its scent. But there was a completely other fragrance I detected, though I couldn't place it; it was neither good nor bad, but comforting. It must have just been George, and it made me not want to let go at all.

I reluctantly pulled away from the embrace, suddenly not knowing what to do. My cheeks and ears flared, and I found that I was fiddling with my fingers, wringing them and fumbling about. George looked just about as awkward as I did, and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking around the street.

"Listen, I'd best be off. Me mum's usually got dinner ready by now, so..." he trailed, and looked into my eyes, while his timid but delighted grin seemed to scintillate in the dark. "See you at our next gig?"

Nodding and returning the smile, I responded, "Oh, right, of course! Well, off with you then, good night."

"Good night."

As George walked off into the dark, I found myself standing there, watching him go until I couldn't see his tall, lanky form anymore. I released a breath I wasn't even aware that I was holding, and slumped against the short brick fence. Nearly five years I had known George, and I was still feeling flustered whenever I was close to him.

I was about to turn around and walk to my front door when I heard footsteps approaching from the shadows, and the first thought that surfaced in my mind was that George was coming back for something he might have forgotten at Paul's house. But there were two pairs of footsteps, and I was about to dismiss it when I heard voices. Then one of them called out to me, in a very familiar crisp and sharp voice.

"Oh, you just missed that opportune moment, Peggy!"

My body gave a startled jolt and I stood upright to watch John and Stu walk towards me, their outlines emerging from the night and becoming illuminated from the streetlamp that stood in front of the house next to mine. They both still had their instruments with them, indicating they hadn't gone home yet.

I groaned and crossed my arms over my chest. "Were you lot spying on us? Can't do anything without you noticing, can I, Lennon?"

John snorted and stood right in front of me, Stu at his side, as he replied, "That's John to you! And just fer the record, _no_, you can't!"

When I turned to look at Stuart, I noticed that this was one of the very rare moments that I could see him up close without his thick-framed sunglasses, and took note of his freckles. Since when did he have freckles? He caught me staring at gave me a funny look. "What, why are you staring? Something on my face?"

"I think she's just marveling _at_ yer ugly face, mate," John leaned over and muttered to his friend. Stu shoved him away, leaving the younger male to stumble and laugh. "All right, all right! Maybe she just fancies you," he corrected, shooting me an evil smile.

Stu furrowed his brows and gave me yet another funny look. "But I thought you fancied George?"

"Jesus Christ, does _everyone_ know?" I cried, waving my arms about in exasperation.

"Afraid so, love," Stu shrugged. "It's not hard to figure out, really. Your cheeks get red whenever he's around."

I narrowed my eyes at him, and pointed an accusing finger, wagging it in his face. "Don't go telling him, now! I may like him, but—"

Stu interrupted me by holding up his hand to halt my speech. I saw that John was about ready to cut into the conversation, but Stu used the same hand he held up to smack John in his stomach, gently though, to hush him up. "Yeah, yeah, I know, you're not ready for a relationship yet after the whole Charlie thing, I won't tell him. Honest." He then put his hand up to his heart and grinned.

John and I stared at him in amazement. "How the bloody hell did you know that, Stu?" John asked incredulously.

His friend shot him a look, like John should have known better, and replied, "I've got two sisters; I think I understand a bit how girls work." He turned his attention back to me and said, "Well, now that John's done dragging me back here to _spy_ on you, we'll get going. Good night, Peggy kid. Don't worry about George, hey?"

He leaned over to ruffle my hair, and I squeezed my eyes shut as he did so. "All right, all right, then!" I swatted my hands at him, just to have him recoil and John's hand was now ruffling my hair.

"We're just giving you a hard time since yer the baby kid out of all of us, love. Good night!"

The two young men stalked off back into the dark, chatting as they went and I could hear John's occasional cackle echoing off the buildings. I shook my head and walked back up to my house, heading straight for my room to lie on my bed and think. I clutched Flopsy tightly and thought back to tonight with George.

I had a lot of time to tell George my feelings, right? They wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. The furthest they have ever gone was up to Scotland for a week or so to perform, but after that they would come back home and just perform at the local clubs, like The Cavern, The Casbah, Jacaranda, or other local gigs. I had plenty of time to sort out my feelings and feel ready to be in a relationship again. But this wasn't just about me; this would only work if George liked me back just the same. And he just ended his relationship with Ruth, so it didn't look as if I'd be with George for a while.

I groaned and turned my head into my pillow, closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

_Hmm, No more girlfriend for George? And Peggy's single too... ;) But patience is a virtue! Now, tell me, did this chapter make you glad? Angry? Sad? Confused? In suspense? Lay an egg? Lose a ring? Hurt someone's field? Then please, tell me in a review! :) And if you have ideas you want to give me, please tell me!_

_Also, a Happy Belated Halloween to everyone, hope you all I fun! I went as Velma from Scooby Doo :)_

_"The place is surging with girls!" _


	17. Author's Note

Hello again, and thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad there are a lot of you who enjoy the story :)

Unfortunately, as you can see, this is not an update, and I am changing my update schedule once again. I won't go on to complain about busy things I have in my life, but as of right now I do not have a lot of time to write new chapters, and there is no set schedule anymore; I will update whenever I have time.

I'm really sorry to everyone who was anticipating an update. And honestly, aside from my busy schedule, there's a couple ways I want this story to go and I'm still deciding which way is best. I know you guys sense George doesn't like Peggy anymore and keep asking about when they'll kiss again. But don't worry, I won't deprive you of some romance in this story, it'll soon come :)

Thank you so much for understanding!

Sincerely,

Meggie


	18. 16: It Won't Be Long

_Hello everyone, long time no update! I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving, and if you don't celebrate it, I hope November was just a good month for you, let's hope December is even better! :) I apologize for the long wait, as you heard I've been quite busy with things as school (specifically because I joined marching band which took up time, but it's the best fun I've had all through high school, so I wasn't simply ignoring the story!) but now I'm back just to give you a little update (still no regular updating schedule... I will just update whenever I can). Definitely not the best chapter I've written, but I know someone left a comment mentioning that 1960 was approaching and Peggy was running out of time to be with George... which is shown in this chapter, in fact! This one also shows some internal struggles Peggy has and... yes it's a sort of blahh chapter but I wanted to give you guys an update, so I hope you enjoy it somewhat anyways :)_

_NOW! As I said in the note, never fear about the romance, it shall come :) I'm rewriting future chapters right now and ohh.. who knows? Maybe you'll see that kiss you've been waiting for next time? ;)_

_As always, I only own the O'Higgins and other original characters! Enjoy! :)_

_-M_

* * *

Over those few months, George and I started to spend more time with each other and go out and do whatever came to mind—simple things, like go for walks and talking, go out to get a Coke, or we would head off to the pictures with the rest of the boys, or go to a club when the group wasn't playing and just talk with other musicians and dance; but the bottom line was, we would interact more. I enjoyed all of this time I got to spend with him, and felt myself getting closer and closer to him. There would be fleeting moments when a short, simple glance would cause my cheeks to heat up, or, as corny as it sounds, our hands would bump against each other as we walked side by side. But of course, I was far too scared to make a move and withdrew my hand as if it were burnt on the stove. I thought maybe these small gestures meant that he was interested in me. Deep down, I hoped he was feeling the same way I did about him.

It was late July of 1960, and I was once again seated at a booth at a small hole-in-the-wall eatery late that night with none other than The Silver Beetles, accompanied by Cynthia and Dot. We had pulled up some chairs to the booth in order to give us more room, since we were squished enough as it is.

What puzzled me was the way both Cynthia and Dot looked; both had strikingly blonde hair, and wore much more showy clothing. Their dresses didn't look comfortable, but they did make them look as if they were desperate to please their boyfriends. They were meant to make them look sexy and appealing, but I could see them fidgeting every once in a while in their clothes. I didn't see very much of them, but just six months ago they were wearing the same loose-fitting but stylish dresses or other clothes that I was. They would even sometimes wear a pair of jeans like I did occasionally, but never such tight clothing before. When I shot a glance over to Paul, I saw that he had his arm wrapped around Dot's shoulders and he was eyeing her up.

"All right, listen mates, we're not going to be the bloody Silver Beetles! I'll be damned if some tosser calls me 'Johnny Silver' too! And we still need a drummer," John pointed out as he snaked his arm around his girlfriend's waist.

George, who was seated right across from me, shrugged his shoulders and suggested, "We could always get Mona's son to play fer us. His name's Pete, I've seen him play with The Blackjacks. Got this blue drum set and everything."

John gave a nod of approval and asked George to give Pete the invite into the band, in which he agreed. "Good, 'cause Macca here can't play the drums for shite!"

Paul sputtered his Coke back into the bottle and cried out, "Oy, sod off, Lennon! I can keep a steadier beat than you can!"

That's when John let a grin slowly turn up his lips, and a twinkle glowed in his eyes. He started rambling on about changing their band name by dropping the "Silver" and making it "The Beetles," but with an "A" instead of the second "E," giving them the name "The Beatles."

"Think about it, if you flip it 'round, it sounds like 'Les Beat,' and that's got this sort of posh French sound, hey?" John was met with a few blank stares from us, and he scrunched up his face in annoyance. "Well _apparently_ Paul here thinks I can't keep a damn beat, so we're bloody 'Beatless' too!"

I let out a laugh and held up my Coke bottle to his, clinking them together before taking a sip. "Well done, mate, did you figure that all out yerself? When you're famous and they ask how you got your band name, you'd better mention this whole stupid conversation along with it. 'Yeah, we got our name because we can't keep up a beat to any of our songs,' " I said, trying to do my best impersonation of John, but ended up sounding nasally and nothing like him at all.

This got the rest of our group chuckling, and John gave me a sly smile. "What, give the media the _truth?_ They lie to us, so why not lie to them? I'll just tell them I had some daft dream about... some man on a flaming pie. That'll confuse them, right?"

Paul snorted and challenged, "Yeah, mate, until they figure out you're a loony. Then their little scandalous articles will send us right back here to Liddypool!"

"Bugger off, son! Come 'ead, lads, where are we going?" John looked at his band mates, giving them a determined look.

They all answered back in chant-like voices, "To the top, Johnny!"

"And where's that?"

"To the toppermost of the poppermost!"

John was now grinning from ear to ear, and he snuggled his nose into Cynthia's bright blonde hair for a moment, causing her to giggle and blush profusely. "Or, as of right now," he continued, "we're going to Hamburg. Alan's just given me the dates, so he's got our boat ride set up for early August."

My jaw dropped at this piece of information. Since when were they going to Germany? I knew that Alan Williams, they unofficial manager, was going to send them somewhere to play, but I didn't think it would be _that_ far. "Sorry, to _Hamburg?_ For how long?" I inquired, looking from Paul's guilty face to George's, then Stu's and John's. They were all aware of this ahead of time.

"For six weeks. Maybe longer," Paul coughed, trying to avoid my gaze.

I simply stared at him in disbelief. I wouldn't see my best friend for possibly _months_. Hell, I wouldn't see George for a few months! I didn't think I'd be able to take it. It wasn't like I had very many friends, and I wouldn't have anything to do if they all up and left for a few months. I might occasionally ring Cynthia up and do something with her, but we still weren't exactly close friends—maybe this would be the time to bond with her? Oh, no, they couldn't leave now, not when I was starting to get so close to George.

George gave me a concerned look. "You all right, Peggy Sue?"

"It's Peggy _Mae_, actually," I snapped, feeling completely bitter one second, and extremely guilty the next. "Oh, sorry about that, George. I'm just missing you lot already." I put my head down on the table, curling my arms around my head and sighed. "This is going to be one hell of a boring year then!"

I could feel a hand stroking my hair and heard Cynthia say, "Don't worry, we can hang out and do something fun. We don't need boys to entertain us, do we?"

From my right, I heard John snort and mutter, "Of course Peggy wouldn't know the kind of entertainment boys give girls."

My head shot up and I sent him a glare. "Did you _really_ just say that, Lennon?"

He grinned cheekily and retorted, "Hey, that's _John_, actually!"

I wasn't in the best of moods at this point, and his comment didn't make me feel any better. With a frustrated sigh, I climbed my way out of the booth, ignoring the protests to get me to stay, and walked right out the door. The warm night air hit my skin and felt as heavy as my heart. I took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down, but I couldn't help but think of the news. What if George found someone in Hamburg? Some pretty girl with long legs, blonde hair and big breasts? The insecurities kept bubbling up out of nowhere and crushed my chest with doubts and fears.

As I took the first few steps homeward, I gazed at my transparent reflection in the window of the woodwork shop next to me. I had long, light brown hair that was now just above my elbows, and I didn't keep it too stylish at all. I could never be bothered with spending large amounts of time on my hair; it was just parted off-center on my head and flowed down in natural waves. I always thought it was pretty, but seeing Cynthia and Dot in the diner made me think that boys only wanted blondes.

Next, I studied my chest. Apparently I wasn't supposed to be gifted with a large chest, either. I was just... normal. Decent. Nothing impressive at all. I gave up constantly wearing dresses—though I did wear them every few days or so—and I was now wearing a pair of faded and worn drainpipe trousers that clung to my legs. They used to belong to Paul a few years back, but ever since he outgrew them, he handed them down to me. I had on a white short-sleeved blouse that was somewhat tight to my skin, making me thankful that I was slim, and on my feet were black espadrilles. I overall thought I didn't look half bad. But my legs weren't as long as the Thames like most models or desired girls; I was only around five-foot-five, most of them were taller and wore heels.

I was normally confident about my looks. Hell, I was _always_ confident about my looks; just maybe not at this moment. But I kept telling myself I didn't need to impress anyone; all of the people I cared about had already showed me they liked me for who I am. George never seemed to care if I was in a dress or drainpipes; he seemed to like me either way. But what if someone in Hamburg caught his eye?

"Peggy! Jesus Christ, Pegs, what was that all about in there?"

I turned my head and saw Paul standing there, his face contorted into an expression of worry. His hands were stuffed in his trouser pockets, and his feet shuffled on the pavement a bit as he walked towards me.

Shrugging my shoulders and trying to act casual, I replied, "Nothing, it was nothing. Just that time of month fer me, you know?" At least that last part wasn't a lie; I always hated it when the cycle came round. But when my friend gave me a stern look, I was reminded that I could never lie to Paul.

Sucking in a deep breath, I confessed, "I don't want you to go to Hamburg. Not for so long. I'll miss you, you know?" Paul was now close enough that he could put a comforting hand on my arm. "Things are changing, all so fast, Paulie. We're not eleven anymore, we've grown up, and it's all going by too fast. You know I love you; I love you and the whole lot. What am I going to do when you've gone off to Hamburg to become famous?"

Paul put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a side hug, smiling warmly at me. "We'll write, everyday! And call and before you know it, we'll be back!" His kind smile turned into a mischievous one as he added, "So you only love George like you love us, hey? Because from what I remember, you said—"

"Oh, piss off, you know what I mean," I cut in as I jabbed him in the shoulder.

About five buildings down, the door to the diner opened and out walked John, Cynthia, George, Dot, and Stuart, chatting along and walking towards us. When John caught sight of us, he waved his arm and shouted, "Aw, hell, you two weren't thinking of running off to elope, were you? Cause I need that guitarist for Hamburg, love."

As they approached us, Paul made his way over to Dot and gave her a sweet kiss. "Nope, I've got me girl right here, thanks!"

It was getting late, and while John was up for getting as drunk as possible, many of us were tired and declined. He, along with Stu and Cynthia, decided to head down to Ye Cracke Pub. The rest of us, which was just Paul, Dot, George and I, decided to head on home. Paul was going to take Dot home first and encouraged me to go on ahead without him.

"I'll walk you home, Peggy," George offered politely. He nodded his head over in the direction home. "Come on, don't want yer mum to have a fit for being home late."

I knew this was all part of a plan Paul had devised within five seconds in his mind, so I shot him a warning glance. He merely shrugged his shoulders, though there was no mistaking that twinkle in his eyes. "Good night then, you two!" he called to us as he turned back around to escort Dot home.

George gestured towards the direction my house was in. "Off we go, then. Are you all right, by the way? I know John's an ass, believe me, I'm usually on the receiving end of his crude humor." He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets as he walked, kicking at a few pebbles here and there.

I let out a sigh and lazily nodded. "Yeah, everyone knows he's like that. But he's got his moments. After all, we still love him, don't we?"

He snorted and cried, "I'm not a bloody poof!"

Rolling my eyes, I shoved him lightly with my arm. "Not like that! Oh, you know what I mean. We'll all mates, so it's sort of fine if he's an ass sometimes."

We both shared a chuckle at that, and soon it fell silent again. It wasn't because we felt awkward—I was dwelling on how much I was going to miss the tall boy beside me. It's true, since he was the baby of the band, John did pick on him a lot. But everyone knew that he was secretly so proud of him and grateful to him. As their lead guitarist, he was incredibly important, and not to mention incredibly good at what he did. Over the years as they progressed and we all grew older, though not any more mature, I would note the changes in his features. Now at seventeen years old, he was about the same height as Paul, which was very tall, and he was still skinny as ever. He had a slender face, but the same sparkling brown eyes and wide, crooked smile as he always did. Every time I saw him, he seemed more and more beautiful—because that's what he was; a beautiful person, inside and out. I wanted to be with him, I really did. The only thing holding me back was the fear of having another relationship end in disaster. But George did tell me he'd never hurt me, and I believed him.

Breaking from my thoughts, I piped up, "By the way, did you notice how different Cyn and Dot looked? Their hair was so much blonder, and they kept fidgeting in their skirts. They looked very different."

"Oh, right, that." He kicked another pebble far out into the darkness of the night. "John and Paul got this idea that they wanted their girls to look like Brigitte Bardot, Blonde hair, tight clothing, as revealing as possible—stuff like that."

I frowned. Of all people, I didn't expect Paul to make a girl change herself for him. "What? That's horrible! They should set those boys straight, why haven't they protested or anything? I would!"

With a short laugh, George shook his head and replied, "Of course you would, Peggy. From what I understand and have seen, we're yer only friends. Just a bunch of Teds. You learned from us not to take any shite, Tough like us. Cyn and Dot, though, they aren't." He turned his head and flashed me a toothy grin.

"Oh, great, now you're making me sound like a Ted! Christ, boys would think I'm too much of a man for them and no boy would like me then," I joked, sticking my tongue out at him.

Surprisingly for me, his face softened and he started, "Well, you know I think you're be—"

"Peggy, is that you? Wait up for me, now!"

It took everything in my power to keep from groaning. Why was it that there was always _someone_ who interrupted moments George and I had alone? Things would be going great, and someone would always butt in and ruin it!

When we both turned around, we saw my brother, Thomas, running towards us. He had an envelope clutched in his right hand, and he was waving us down with his left. Once he finally reached us, he had to bend over slightly, hands now on his knees, and catch his breath. "Blimey! Thanks fer waiting. Are we off to our house then? Good thing, I just got off my late shift."

I glanced at George, who was walking on one side of my brother as I walked on the other, and when he caught my gaze I gave him a sheepish smile as if to say "Sorry my brother just ruined whatever moment we could have had." He seemed to understand and returned it with another small smile and nod.

Thomas noticed our silent communication and began to look back and forth between us. He raised a curious eyebrow and asked, "Am I interrupting something here?"

Before I could answer with an abrupt "Yes," George politely piped up, "No, of course not. We were just walking, no problem here, mate. Any road, what's in that envelope there?" And then he launched into a conversation with my brother about his job and what it was like. In turn, my brother inquired about playing at clubs and his trip to Hamburg in less than two weeks. Even though I was a bit irritated, I was glad that they were getting along. They never did have much time to get to know each other, and I could tell Thomas thought George was a good guy. Thank God George is such a sweet and well-mannered boy.

I was starting to space out during out walk when Thomas and George suddenly stopped, indicating we had reached out house. Sure enough, as soon as I spun around to face them, the two boys—no, they were young men now, weren't they?—were laughing with each other and standing beside the small brick wall lining the side walk. Over time, hedges started grow of the brick wall to the point where you couldn't tell it was made out of brick anymore. Just a tall wall of plant and leaves reaching just up to my shoulders along all of the houses.

"Oy, Peggy, you have to bring me to one of their gigs, hey? They sound like a riot, these Beatles!" Thomas called me from between fits of guffaws.

With a grin, I replied, "When they get back we'll see them at The Cavern or sommat like that. Go on and unlock the door then, last I checked you had the keys. At least now I don't have to wake Papa up."

Thomas agreed and said his good-byes to George before walking up to the front door and fiddling about with the keys. As he did this, I took a few steps closer to George, who was now leaning against the plant wall lining.

"Looks like I won't be seeing you lads for a while," I commented, leaning beside him against the hedge. I didn't look directly at him as I spoke. Instead, I was gazing up at the stars in the sky. In Liverpool, we didn't see a lot of stars because of all the lights going on in the city. But I still enjoyed looking upon the ones we did see.

George shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet a bit. "Not until the end of the year, probably." I could see from the corner of my eye that he had adverted his attention from his feet over to me. "I'll miss you, Peggy. We've had some good times these past months, haven't we?"

Once again, I looked over to meet that crooked, toothy grin and couldn't help but beam at him. "Yeah, great times. Don't miss me too much, hey? And don't forget to write! I want to know all about your Hamburg experience."

He moved closer to me, and my heartbeat speed up as soon as his hand lightly bumped up against mine. "I promise I'll write. As for missing you too much, though, I'm—"

"Peggy, come inside, Mum's awake and wants you to be in bed soon!" Thomas called to me.

Always when I was with George! I was always getting interrupted! It was as if some higher being was trying to tease us by always cutting one of us off at the best part of the conversation. Or maybe it was saying that the time wasn't quite yet right.

"I'll be in soon, just wait!" I answered. I leaned forward and pulled George into a gentle hug. "Good night then, Georgie. I'll be seeing you some other time before you leave for Hamburg."

"Will you be there when we leave? We're taking a boat. Be there at the docks to see us off, all right?" he told me. Then he pulled away from the hug, ever so mysterious but friendly, and whispered a good night before he walked off into the night once more.

Letting out a sigh, I trudged up to the front door where Thomas was waiting. I could tell from the anxious look on his face that he knew I was interested in George. But instead of pointing it out, he simply said, "If you're thinking about anything serious, then I approve of him."

* * *

_Yes I brought Thomas back for a chapter :P He needed some attention because he complained he was collecting dust in my character closet I keep them locked away in. :P Now, what did you think? Still angry I kept you waiting so long? Glad that I finally updated? Ready to come egg my house? Pissed off that PEOPLE KEEP INTERRUPTING PEGGY AND GEORGE TIME? D: Excited about the possible upcoming kiss? ;) Think that I made the part about them coming up with their band name was cheesy? (It's not the real, accurate story, I know, but this is fiction!) Tell me in a review then!_

_Any ideas you want to be put into the story? Please let me know! _

_Also, just a little advertisement I guess, but I am writing a short three-part (that's the plan, anyways) Harry Potter fic, featuring Draco Malfoy and an OC. Would anyone be interested in reading? Let me know! (It's not a happy one though, be warned, I was writing it while feeling sort of down :/ )_

_"All right, well let's get this vessel ship-shape!"  
"I kinda like the way it is. Submarine-shaped."_


	19. 17: Say The Words You Long To Hear

_Hello to everyone, and how long it's been! Thank you for all of the reviews :) Yes, I have updated at last! I am now in winter break, which means more writing time, because as of this chapter, I've changed the direction of the story! The chapters I have written after this one all need to be edited now, so... there is much work to do this break! _

_Now I know you have all been asking me about when George and Peggy will finally get together, or kiss, things like that, and the original way I had written the story, it wouldn't happen for quite some time... now that I've tweaked a few things, I hope you all are satisfied with this chapter ;) Possibly a Christmas special coming up soon too! That will later be added to a collection of one-shots I'll be writing for this story. So stay tuned for that!_

_I only own the O'Higgins and any other original characters! Please enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

_"My Dearest Sister,_

_Now how is everything in The Pool? It's been song long since I've set foot in England and quite frankly, I miss home terribly. But things here in New York and just lovely. Last week some friends and I went out for Betty's twenty-second birthday. You remember me mentioning her before, don't you? She's my flat-mate. I'm finishing up my last year at the college here, and you'd probably like to know that I'm a make-up artist for a modeling company out here. I do a bit of my own modeling on the side as well, though. Just a bit. Small things, like maybe one or two designs every so often. I'm thinking they only hired me to be a make-up artist because of my accent (they must think it's elegant, but these Americans can barely tell I'm a scouser!), but the side modeling is really fun. I gave up trying to be a secretary because, to be completely honest, it bored me to bits! I'd much rather transform an average girl into a beauty star and watch how happy they look with the results that file papers and make phone calls or keep records._

_Mum said you're getting into designing these days. How's that coming along? Who knows, maybe we'll both be in the modeling business! Even though it's tough, and believe me, I know! Most models are tall, slim, and pale, and seem to live on a diet of twig and berries! Anyways, I thought maybe you'd still like to come out and visit? I should show you around the business and give you a bit of an insight at what it's all about. Plus, I know when I left, we weren't the closest of sisters. I miss you so much, Peggy, and I want to be close and a good older sister to you. I'd ask Thomas to come as well but from what I've heard, he's got a job to worry about! _

_There's something else I'd like to mention. I've got myself a lad. He's such a charmer, and he's tall and kind and he seems to be a wonderful family man. He says he loves kids, and I really think things are going well for us. His name is Frederick Norris and I met him on the subway to work. Turns out he's one of the photographers at the modeling agency I work at, and he does a bit of writing on the side. He's just the more amazing man I've ever met. Goodness, I've never even properly gushed over a boy before to you! Now you definitely need to visit so we can catch up on things._

_Lots of love to you and the rest of the family,_

_Carolyn O'Higgins"_

Folding the letter carefully and placing it back in the envelope, I set it aside in a bin I kept on my nightstand. The bin was already filled to the brim with other letters my sister had sent to me over the years. Carolyn wrote usually once a month, sometimes twice. It wasn't as often as my mother wanted her to write, but we all understood she was busy with college and was working hard at her new job, so we were content with the amount of letters she sent us. In all truth, my mother was happy that she even wrote at all. But from her letters, we could tell that Carolyn had changed completely. It's true that she and I were never close before, but now that her snooty front was down and gone, I was beginning to see a side of my sister I really liked.

I was thinking about Carolyn's offer. Visiting her seemed like such a great idea, and I really wanted to see New York. People always hear about stars and celebrities making it to New York and it all sounded glamorous. Life in the limelight wasn't for me, as I much preferred Liverpool anyways, but taking a peek at it was becoming tempting.

"Mum? I've just read Carolyn's letter to me." I had walked downstairs to the kitchen where my mother was fixing supper.

She stood in front of the stove, plump and jolly as ever. She had a red apron with strawberries and blueberries on it wrapped around her figure, and her blue eyes glistened when she turned to face me. "Oh, I've just finished the one she sent me too, it's lying there on the table. From what I hear, she's doing just lovely. _And_ she's got herself a lad! Am I hearing wedding bells?"

I giggled and took a seat at the small table we had against the wall opposite of the stove. I took the letter to my mother in my hands and scanned over it, comparing and contrasting. "Possibly. She's invited my to visit her in New York. Can I? There's still nearly a month left until school begins," I informed.

Mum was grinning from ear to ear at this point. "Peggy, darling, that'd be wonderful! Oh, write to her right now! I think that's a fantastic idea. What day do you want to be there?"

"Anytime, just as long as it's after the sixteenth. That's when Paulie and the boys are leaving for Hamburg."

I heard a dull clunk sound as my mother put the lid on the pot of soup she was brewing, and then came over to sit by me. "Of course, how did I forget? I was just talking to Jim yesterday and he told me they were leaving. It's amazing, I tell you, how fast you all grow up! How about the day after, then? That'll give you exactly a week to pack and get things settled. I'm sure your father will let you go as well."

During supper, I talked over the whole trip to New York with my parents and Thomas, who seemed to all unanimously agree that I should go see Carolyn. I knew that they were also curious as to how she was doing and how much she had changed, and sending me to see her was a perfect way to find out. But my father also encouraged me to check out the fashion company and follow my dream to become a designer.

Later that evening after supper, I was sitting once again, just like old times, in Paul's front yard in the grass, listening to him play a tune and even figure out a song he was writing. I decided to lean back and lie flat out on the lawn to watch the stars, as he plucked away.

"New York, huh?" he mumbled, followed by a soft, sweet lullaby resonating from the strings of his guitar.

"Yeah. I haven't seen Carolyn in four years. And I'd like to see what this fashion designing company is like. Besides, with you lot gone, what else am I going to do?" My hands were flat at my sides, and I was subconsciously ripping small bits of grass from the earth.

He chuckled and leaned over to jab me lightly in the side with the headstock of his guitar. "Aw, is little Peggy Mae missing me already? But then again, why _wouldn't_ you? Just look at me! Devilishly good looks, extraordinary guitar skills, and a voice of the muses!"

I caught sight of his smug smirk and tossed a handful of grass at his face. "Oh, bugger off, son! But if you _must_ know, then I'd definitely miss you. Yer me best mate, I'm missing you already!"

After laughing and brushing off stray blades of grass, he launched into a Buddy Holly song, singing along in a Texan accent, _"We-e-e-ll, you gonna miss me, early in the mornin', one of these days!"_

"Ah, Buddy Holly, the only man who could wear those glasses and still look cute," I commented with a sigh.

Paul quirked an eyebrow. "So, are you saying John looks like shite in his glasses?"

I let out a small laugh at the thought of John in his glasses. "No, no, I take that back, because he does a good Buddy Holly impression."

Silence reigned for about a minute as we took in the sounds of the evening. Crickets were chirping around us, and there was a gentle breeze whispering past us. I was going to miss moments like these with Paul.

"Are you going to write to George when we're in Hamburg? Because you know I'll write to you, that's just a given." Paul set down his guitar and leaned back into the natural plush cushions of the earth, snuggling into the grass beside me.

I turned my head to look at him with a smile. "Well that's just a given that I'd write to him too, isn't it? But it's good to know you'll write too. Make sure I give you me sister's address to mail it to, hey? Don't want to be sitting around New York wondering why you haven't written me anything in a month!"

My best friend snorted obnoxiously at this and rolled his eyes. "Honestly? I could never do that, I'd remember." He paused for a few seconds before asking, "Are you going to cry at the docks next week? Dot said she might. Which I think it sort of daft, it's not like we'll be gone forever."

"Right, right, just for about the rest of the year, not a problem," I replied nonchalantly. When Paul shot me a look, I giggled and added, "Who knows, maybe I will cry. After all, it _is_ my best friends leaving me for about four months!"

"Oh. That's good, then. It's okay for you to cry, because it's easy to comfort you, I'm used to it. It's probably all programmed in me brain how to do it, too. Other than that, I'm not good with girls crying. After that pregnancy scare with Dot, I didn't know the first thing about crying to make her feel better. The only thing that came out of me mouth was that I'd marry her." I could see the grimace set into Paul's face as he was brought back to that memory.

Earlier this year, Dot was at a dinner party my family and Paul's family was holding at the McCartney home. She came to those often, and was well liked by all of us. At this party, she informed Paul in the hallway that she was pregnant with his child, and he was terrified. When I went to check on them, Dot was in a fit of tears and kneeling on the ground, while Paul's face was white as a sheet and he looked as if he had seen a ghost. Unfortunately, she had a miscarriage, but I could tell that Paul was immensely relieved to find out that he wasn't going to be a father and that he didn't have to find a job and quit the band.

He cleared his throat and continued, "We'll be making a lot of money playing in Germany, actually. Allan said about fifteen quid a week. That's the only reason me dad's letting me go; cause of the money."

"Christ, that's twice as much as what Tommy's making!" I gasped in awe. Fifteen pounds was a lot for such young people in the music business who were just playing at clubs. For a band that wasn't signed, they were pretty well off.

"Yeah. John's thinking about asking Mona's son to join as our drummer for Hamburg. Do you know him? Name's Pete."

I thought about it for a moment before a face came to mind. I had in fact seen Pete around the Casbah when the boys would perform there, though I never talked to him. He seemed like a really straight guy and not someone John or Paul would associate themselves with. "Light hair and this sort of serious face all the time? I've seen him."

Paul nodded his head and sat up, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. In the recent months, he had taken up the habit, along with John and Stuart, though so far I hadn't seen George smoke. Judging by how he so looked up to the rest of the Beatles, I was sure that he'd pick it up soon. When Paul offered me a cigarette, I declined.

"Right, forgot. You don't smoke," he mumbled to himself and chuckled as he took one for himself and tucked the case back into his pocket. He produced a lighter from his other pocket and struck it a couple of times before a small flame danced from the top. He lit it and the lighter too was put back in his pocket. He took a long drag, then exhaled, much like a sigh, and made sure to direct it away from me.

"It made me cough up a storm the first time I tried it. Remember? You were there!" I joked, pretending to fan away the smoke. "Maybe I'll have one just once in a while, when I'm stressed or something. But otherwise, it tastes disgusting!"

After rolling his eyes, Paul leaned back to lie in the grass again. "Do you know what I just realized?"

"Hmm?"

"We're actually doing this," he breathed out. "We're _actually_ going to Hamburg. You have no idea how excited I am for this, Pegs!"

**::::::::::::::::::::**

"Come _on,_ Paulie! We've got to hurry! You're supposed to meet the lads at the docks in an_ hour. _I'm pretty sure you've got everything, though you might have wanted to pack the night before, now let's just _go_ now!"

Fiddling about with the strap of my side bag, I was standing in the doorway to Paul's room, which was in such disarray at the moment that I couldn't imagine how he could ever find anything in its depths. His bed sheets were strewn around and half of them were lying on the floor, right next to his overturned box of emergency money. His dresser drawers were all opened and emptied out into his rather large suitcase, and other various trinkets and belongings lie around the room, none in their proper places.

Ever impatient, I was trying to urge him out of the house so he could have enough time to make it to the docks and not be late. He, on the other hand, was taking his time and still packing.

He let out a groan of frustration and snapped, "Oh for gosh sake, Peggy, I'd rather you were reminding me of things I needed to _bring_ instead of rushing me out of the house!"

Mike chose that time to show up at my side, camera in hand, and take a couple photos of his brother zipping up his suitcase. "He's just in a cheery mood, isn't he, Pegs?"

Crossing my arms over my chest, and I replied tightly, "Yes, _isn't he._" I had to tilt my head up to look at the younger McCartney brother now. He was fairly tall now, though just a bit short than Paul. Funny enough, they didn't look very much like each other. Some features were similar, but different in ways that made Mike look like the older brother instead of Paul.

With an irritated sigh, Paul grabbed his suitcase and faced us in the doorway. "Look, I'm sorry about that, Peggy, really. I'm just nervous."

"Yeah, he's just about ready to shit himself with anticipation!" Mike jested, taking a snapshot of Paul and I's laughs in response.

Jim McCartney sat in the front room reading the morning paper, shaking his leg nervously. When we finally came downstairs and approached the front door, he seemed to gain speed and agility. He set down the newspaper quickly and darted over to the front door, enveloping Paul in a loving hug. I couldn't help but beam at the two, and I knew that Mike was doing the same.

"If you ever need anything, anything at all, just give us a ring, hey? And don't forget to write! If you miss just _one_ week, I'll make sure you get sent right back!" It was obvious from his playful tone of voice that Mr. McCartney was only kidding about his last remark, but he seriously meant that he wanted letters regularly.

Paul, Mike and I hurried out of the house and took the nearest bus to the docks. It was a thirty-minute drive, and we rode in excited chatter. Paul was absolutely garrulous and kept rambling on about the wonders and experiences he'd find in Hamburg. "Cor, and I don't speak a word of German!" he confessed with a laugh.

I suddenly remembered. "Oh! Sorry, Paulie, I completely forgot about it. I went out shopping yesterday with Mum. Got you something." I pulled out a small, thick book out of my side bag and handed it over to Paul. "Thought you boys would be needing it."

He took the book in his hands, turned it over to the cover and read it out loud, "_Langenscheidt?_"

"Yeah, it's an English to German dictionary."

Paul flashed a wide grin and out of the blue gave me a tight hug, which was a bit difficult given that we were sitting side by side on a bus. What surprised me furthermore was that he gave me a big, sloppy kiss on the cheek. "Pegs, yer really the best! God, I'm just so excited about it all!"

I heard Mike snickering from the seat behind us and mumbled to him to shut up, but a smile was still present on my face. I was just as excited and nervous as he was. Things were changing at such a rapid pace that I was afraid I couldn't keep up. But there was no doubt that I was happy for the boys.

When we arrived at the docks, we saw that John, Stu, George, Cynthia and Dot were already waiting. Beside them also stood another familiar looking boy whom I remembered to be Pete Best. He looks extremely tired and out of it, but nevertheless he managed a languid wave and short greeting as we approached them.

"You lot are bloody late! I was here an _hour_ ago, and that's saying something fer me!" John cried from his girlfriend's side. He pulled Paul into a teasing headlock, which in turn triggered an irritated response from the younger male. When they pulled apart, both of them were busting up laughing.

I went over to greet the rest of them, and John properly introduced us to Pete. "This here is Pete Best, you know, Mona's son. Pete, you know Paul already, that's his brother Mike there with the camera, and this lovely little lady is Peggy O'Higgins, she's me secret lover. Don't tell Cyn though!" He bolted to Cynthia's side and snuggled his face into her neck, eliciting giggles from her. "Shhh, you didn't hear that, love!"

"Oh, come off it, John! I've got meself saved for someone who's actually special," I called to him. He simply snorted and waved his hand to shoo me off. Turning back to Pete, I grinned and said, "Hi, I'm Peggy, as you heard."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "So who's girl are you?"

"I'm sorry?" came my reply.

"Well you came with Paul, but he's already got Dot. How do you know the lads?"

"Oh," I said, "an old friend of Paul's. We live next door to each other, actually."

Pete nodded his head slowly, as if trying to find a hidden meaning in what I had just said, but after thinking about it for a few seconds, he shrugged it off and accepted my answer. I'm sure the boys all just loved him.

The large boat in the harbor blew its foghorn, signaling the final boarding. Rushed kisses and hasty hugs were exchanged, Cynthia and Dot trying to get John and Paul to stay just a bit longer in order to extend their good byes. After Paul pulled away from his girlfriend and hugged Mike, he gave me another bear hug and rocked me back and forth exaggeratedly, causing us both to giggle.

"You be good, okay, Peggy Mae? Look for my letters!" he told me before pulling apart, grinning from ear to ear, and boarding the boat.

The hardest good bye came when George walked up to me to say good-bye. He had on his trademark crooked smile, and he shyly began, "Looks like we're both going to be off on an adventure, hey?"

My lips twitched into a smile and I replied, "Looks like it. Everything's been changing so much so fast." I didn't realize it until I caught the confused expression on his face, but at that moment, tears had begun to stream down my cheeks. I didn't know exactly why I was crying, but I knew the boy standing before me wasn't very far from the cause.

He put both of his hands on my shoulders and leaned down so he was at eye-level with me. "Oh, don't cry, Peggy! Sorry, did I say something wrong? Shhh, don't cry." I gasped as he looped an arm around my back and pulled me against him, stroking my hair and trying to sooth me. "You know us lads hate it when girls cry!"

I chuckled through the tears and buried my head in his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm just being daft now, not even knowing _why_ I'm crying!"

George leaned close to my ear and started humming an unfamiliar tune. I closed my eyes and savoured the moment, drinking in the sound of his voice. My eyes fluttered open as he began to form words to the tune. "_Listen, do you want to know a secret? Do you promise not to tell?_" His eyes met mine and it was as if an electric jolt went through my whole body. He offered up a teasing grin as he continued, "_Whoa oh, oh, closer._" I obediently leaned in closer to him. "_Let me whisper in your ear, say the words you long to hear..._"

All of a sudden, he pulled away, that mischievous smile still gracing his lips. I felt as if I were in such suspense, longing to hear the rest of what he was singing, but he merely whispered, "Maybe I'll just let you in on that little secret when I get back?"

"_George_, get your arse on this boat before we bloody leave without you!" came John's agitated cry.

"_Christ_, John! Just wait another few minutes," George barked back at him. He returned his attention to me, taking a deep, nervous breath before saying, "Look, Peggy, I should have just strung up the courage to ask this before, _way_ before, really, and I don't want you to feel like you're waiting while we're gone, but..." He paused, looking down at his shoes for a moment.

My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, and a faint blush crept up to my cheeks. "Go on," I urged.

He looked up and straight into my eyes. "I like you Peggy. For so long, and I won't go into so many details right now, but I was thinking, you know, maybe when we get back... you'd go on a date with me?"

I was afraid my mind would go blank and I'd stand there gaping like a fool, but instead I broke out into a large grin and replied, "Yes! You don't know how long I've felt the same. Of course, definitely!"

George's face brightened instantly and he let out a cry of joy, pulling me close to him and holding me tightly; so tightly I was sure he could hear my heart thumping against my chest. He pulled back slightly and I could see his eyes flickering down to my lips. Slowly, he leaned down and placed a simple, sweet kiss on my lips, but with so much power that I began to feel weak at the knees. How long had I waited for this moment? It had been _years_, and I felt as if nothing could ruin it.

"_Aw, hell!_ George! You'll have all the time in the world when ye get back, now _come 'ead!_" John screamed from the boat. In the background I could hear Paul yelling at him to shut up, and a few gasps coming from Cynthia and Dot not too far away.

George pulled away without rush, offering up a gentle smile. "I've got to go, love." He wiped away the tears that soon began to fall again from my eyes, and kissed my forehead before completely pulling away.

He didn't even glance back at his band mate, and instead slowly backed away, eyes never leaving mine. After taking a few steps back, he turned around, walking up to board the boat. I was overcome with such a wave of emotions that I seemed immobile and stood there, letting the shock take over my ability to move. It wasn't until the boat blew its ear-splitting foghorn and started to leave the docks that I regained mobility and ran after it. I was sobbing all over again, and ignored Cynthia and Dot's calls as I rushed to the edge of the docks, trying to get as close to the boat as possible. The boys were all standing at the top deck, waving down at all of us. When George realized I was trying to communicate to him, he ran towards the end of the boat that was closest to me, waiting for me to speak.

Not caring if my voice sounded raspy or not from crying, I shouted up to George, "You'd better make if back to The Pool, you hear? I don't want to hear that you've forgotten all about us scousers!"

George cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice and called back to me, "Course I'd make it back! I've got the best reason to return!"

"And what's that?" They were getting farther and farther away now, and I was afraid I wouldn't hear what he'd say.

"_You!_"

I was practically bawling as tears flowed even harder. George kept getting farther and farther away, and I tried to smile through the tears. I wanted him back, and _now_; why did they have to leave as soon as I finally heard what I've wanted to hear from George for so many years?

Cynthia and Dot were now at my side, waving and crying along with me. When I wiped the tears away from my eyes to clear my vision, The boys were gone. It might have been silly and overly emotional for me to cry during their departure, but I felt like it was more than them just spending a few months in another country; I had a strange feeling that when they got back, things would change. _They'd_ change—whether it was for better or for worse, I had no idea.

But through all the depressing thoughts, one hopeful and promising thought surfaced, making my heart swell with joy all over again: when they got back, I had a date!

* * *

_YES I DID MAKE THEM KISS ARE YOU ALL HAPPY NOW? LOOK THEY EVEN CONFESSED. I DIDN'T EVEN MAKE THE STUPID FOGHORN INTERRUPT WHAT HE TOLD HE AS THEY WERE SAILING AWAY. (though in the original version of this chapter, I did :P So horrible of me haha) THERE. DONE. _

_Just kidding :) But yes I have finally added a kiss scene for them! And it only took 14 chapters or so after the first one! (Told you this story was a bit slow-paced) So... now that you have your kiss scene... what did you think? Liked it? Hated it? So cheesy you wanted some wine to go with it? Horrible, corny and with no thought at all? It made you squeal with excitement? Make you wanna send me Christmas presents? ;D Then please review! I'd love to hear some feedback, suggestions, and comments!_

_Everyone stay warm during the holidays! :)_

_"Please, sir, can I have one, sir, to surge me, sir?"_


	20. 18: All You Gotta Do Is Call

_OKAY. YOU MAY HATE ME ALL YOU WANT. I apologize sincerely for not updating sooner, and practically **abandoning** this fic. Truthfully, I had become hooked on another band I used to like a few years back and was writing fanfiction for them, plus I got lazy and... you may smack me about the face with a wet stalk of broccoli if you'd like ._._

_But I finally edited this chapter and updated it, so I hope it was worth the wait! I've added two new original characters who were previously mentioned in the story, and I'm sure many of you will like the other person I added to the story. No, he's not an original character, but an important one in rock 'n roll history, so I hope he adds some humor to the story :)_

_I only own the O'Higgins, Frederick Norris, and Betty. _

_Enjoy!_

_-M_

* * *

I only saw a blur of long chestnut hair before my sister engulfed me in a bone-crushing hug. Even though I felt as if my air supply had been sharply cut-off, I had never been so glad to see Carolyn. Her appearance had changed considerably since I last saw her. When she left home, her hair was neatly trimmed to her shoulders, and she would curl it ever so often and dye it a few shades lighter so it had a golden hue. Now her hair was approaching her elbows, and it was back to the natural soft brown colour, identical to mine. Her side-swept fringe was a bit overgrown and tickling past her eyebrows, but I also noticed that her eyes were no longer a dull stone gray; they were shining with joy, and matched the blue-gray colour of my own. Her smile even resembled mine, which caused me to realize for the first time in my life that Carolyn and I did look very much alike.

When she pulled away, I confirmed that she looked much happier than when she left Liverpool. Her once white skin and rosy cheeks were subtly tanner, most likely because the sun actually shone in New York. "Peggy! Cor, I thought you'd never get here! Look how you've grown, too, we're almost the same height now! Let's be off then, we'll get your luggage and head off to the apartment."

It was refreshing to hear a Liverpudlian accent against the flat wall of American ones. I had nothing against American accents, but we scousers weren't nicknamed the "Sing-song Liverpudlians" for nothing. Our tones would fluctuate every other word, and it sounded cheerful on contrast to the plain sounds that reached my ears.

After I retrieved my luggage, Carolyn nearly dragged me out to the front of the airport. We waited only a few minutes before a small black car rolled up in front of us, and out stepped a tall man in his mid-twenties, with deep brown eyes and equally dark hair. He smiled pleasantly at us and held out his hand for me to shake.

"Hello," came his subtle New York accent, "I'm Fred, Carolyn's boyfriend. I've heard endlessly wonderful things about you, Peggy."

I returned the gesture and quirked a curious eyebrow. "_Wonderful_ things? Have we got the right Carolyn? I remember back at home me and our kid were always getting into rows with her, though we were right nob'eads then. Looks like living in the Big Apple's changed her, hey? 'S almost like back in Liddypool, boss city, that. But Carolyn here was just chuffed to bits to see me in the airport." I was now grinning at the man, catching Carolyn's stunned but amused expression from the corner of my eye. I knew our scouser slang was difficult to understand, especially for foreigners, and was intrigued at how he would take the plethora of unfamiliar words.

Fred looked clueless, but looked to my sister and answered with a laugh, "Well, I didn't catch any of that. Are we all still speaking English here?"

"We're from The Pool, mate," I told him with a smile, "don't take it personally, I was just pulling yer leg."

Carolyn leaned over and lightly bumped her shoulder with mine, a playful smirk on her lips. "Don't go confusing the poor lad, or I'll switch to me Queen's English!" When I gasped in mock surprise and placed a hand over my heart in false agony, she continued in her perfect imitation of a London accent, "And don't you forget, Peggy dearest, how exceptional I am at using a proper English accent!"

The drive to Carolyn's flat—or as they called them in America, apartments—only took about half an hour, though the traffic and amount of cars on the road amazed me. Rows and rows of cars lined the streets of New York, and it was as if a car horn went off every two seconds. Tall buildings loomed overhead, sometimes even blocking out the sun as we drove. Nighttime was approaching, and the city was simply aglow; bright lights of all colours glittered the streets, and there were thousands of people bustling about, rushing past like a blur. Food vendors were all over the place, selling snacks and beverages. Girls and boys alike wore the latest fashion trends, modeling them as they walked like a show down the catwalk. My face was glued to the car window as I stared, amazed at the great city before me.

The flat was about ten blocks from Time Square, which was nearby the fashion agency she worked at. Fred was an absolute gentleman and carried my luggage all the way up the three flights of stairs to the flat. After climbing up the endless flights, we were greeted by Carolyn's roommate, Betty. She was a very tall and slender woman with dark, dark hair that curled and bounced on her shoulders. Her large eyes were equally as dark, and she had a radiant smile. There was no doubt that she was a model.

"My gosh, Cary, your sister looks so much like you! Come in; Fred, you can just set that in the spare room, I'll show it to her later. Oh, sorry, where are my manners? Hello, Peggy, I'm Betty. Welcome to New York City! Let me show you around a bit." Betty eagerly reached over and pulled me into a strong hug, which surprised me because of her lithe frame. She struck me as a very chatty person, just by her greeting alone. She had a typical New York accent, but then again she looked like a typical New York fashion model, elegant and up to date with styles.

The apartment wasn't as small as I had imagined, and seemed rather cozy. The front room was the kitchen, with a small table for four and the standard stove, refrigerator and cabinets. The next room that Betty led me to was more of a lounge room, with a black leather couch, another table for two, a small television set and bookshelf. The other back rooms were just bedrooms, one of which was mine. What caught my attention was that the walls were painted red, yellow, or a pale blue.

"By the way," Betty said as we made our way back to the kitchen, where Carolyn and Fred sat in conversation, "I've invited some friends over, and a couple coworkers. They'll be here around... eight?" She sat beside my sister, while I sat beside Fred, and awaited her approval.

"Tonight? But Peggy's just got here," Carolyn reasoned. I noted how completely different and foreign they sounded as they talked, as if their accents were clashing against each other to create a rather comical sounding chat.

"Exactly!" Betty had clasped her hands together enthusiastically. "Didn't you say Peggy wanted to get into the business? I thought I'd bring some friends from work to meet her. Besides, I've got a friend who's been checking out apartments around town, probably thinking of moving here. Plays guitar and sings and all that, but personally, I think his voice is a bit blahh."

My sister looked across the table at me, her eyebrows raised. "Is that all right with you then, Peggy? The jet lag's got to be driving you barmy, so if you just want to sleep it off..." she trailed, leaving me to answer.

With a casual shrug, I replied, "No, no, it's fine with me. Who's this guitar friend of yours, Betty? Me best mate's in a band back home, and they're off in Hamburg playing gigs now."

Betty had gotten up to grab a glass of water and was at the sink with a cup in hand. "His name's Bob Zimmerman, but apparently he's changed his name to Bob Dylan now. He's from Minnesota and has been going back and forth between here and there for the past few months." As she walked back to the table she wore a sly grin. "He's only nineteen, Peggy, and he's a bit of a looker, though his hair's kind of unruly. Interested?"

As I opened my mouth to decline, Carolyn answered for me. "Nah, she's got her own lad she's after. It's still George, isn't it?"

I felt my cheeks rise in temperature, and the happiness that bubbled inside of me tugged my lips up into a smile I couldn't seem to wipe off my face. "Yes, actually, I've got a date with him when I get back home."

Carolyn's jaw dropped and she let out a cry of joy. She wrapped her arms around me in an embrace so tight that I was afraid she would cut off my air supply, but I ended up laughing with her. "That's great, Peggy! Cor, and it's only been, what, _five years_ since you first set yer eyes on him? Looks like me little one's got herself a lad now, eh?"

"Oh, but come on, Peggy, you're in _New York_! Have a little fun while you're here. You don't have to fiddle around with other boys, just have a good time, you can do that and still be faithful to George," Betty urged me.

I let out a loud, abrupt laugh. "Fiddle? Well that's a suggestive word. I'll have fun, just don't go playing matchmaker."

::::::::::::::::::::

The apartment, as I said before, was not particularly large, nor was it small. However I doubted at first how twenty people could move around, dance, and party in a space that was probably only meant for six people to move about freely in. All those doubts were laid to rest at nearly ten-thirty later that night, when I was pushing my way past people in order to reach my room in the back, avoiding the pushing and shoving and the air that reeked of alcohol.

I let out a sigh of relief as I fell flat on the bed, savoring the soft blankets and their warmth. Betty had introduced me to a number of her coworkers and friends, though in her intoxicated state she couldn't even remember half of their names. All of them arrived drunk or high, and it hardly seemed like a place to get to know people in the business area. But I smiled politely anyways, took a sip or two of whatever alcoholic beverage Carolyn was downing, and excused myself to retreat to my room.

I rolled over to sit up and gaze out the window. Lights were flashing all down the streets, illuminating the city. Cars rushed past in a blur, accompanied by honking horns and loud engines. It truly was the city that never sleeps.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open and I let out a startled gasp, snapping my head towards the entryway. I had expected it to be either Betty or Carolyn searching for me, but instead, there stood a thin boy with hair that was just starting to stand up in every direction. He had a straight nose and narrowed eyes that were focused outside the door. He had on a pair of dark drainpipes rolled up at the bottom and a jacket that he tugged closer to his frame. He ran a hand through his hair, making it all the more upright, before closing the door and turning to face me. He stopped immediately as soon as he realized he wasn't the only person in the room.

"Oh," was all he said.

"A 'Hi' would have done just nicely there," I said casually.

"Hm? Oh, right, hi. Just trying to get away from the noise out there." He raised an eyebrow and turned his head slightly, as if he recognized something. "You talk like that other girl out there. Look the same, too. Are you Carolyn's sister?"

I nodded my head. "Yeah, I'm Peggy."

"Bob," was his reply. I was amused by accent because it wasn't anything like Betty's New York accent; he had a mid-west drawl that almost had it's own sing-song quality. He sat down beside me on the bed, resting his arms on his knees while lacing his fingers. "I'm a friend of Betty's."

"So I've heard," said I. "You're looking for a flat out here, aren't you? She said you were from Minnesota and you can play the guitar." In my head I was trying to remember where in America Minnesota was; was it more west or south of New York? His accent sounded slightly southern, but it wasn't over-the-top, so I decided it couldn't be that far south.

He glanced at me with a puzzled expression before saying, "Well so far I haven't exactly found the right _apartment_ yet, but I'm still looking. Betty said you're from..." He stopped to think, opening his mouth to finish his sentence, but closed it shortly afterwards. "Yeah I don't remember. Where are you from again?"

"I'm from Liverpool, it's—"

"Wow, what a name, no wonder I can't remember it."

Appalled at how rude he was, I said in an irritated voice, and slipping into an Irish accent, "Well look who's fucking Lord Muck here! Ye didn't need to be an arse about it, besides _you_—"

Bob cut me off by holding up his hand and interrupting, "Whoa, wait, I wasn't trying to be an asshole—well, actually, I was, but—oh come on, put your fist down, we don't need to bring violence into this. Listen, I'm just a little tipsy here and I'm pissed 'cause some bastard smashed my guitar earlier today. Not exactly in the best of moods."

I lowered my balled-up fist as he finished, understanding everything he said. I was still cranky because of the jetlag too, so it was even between us. "Sorry then. Wait, does the word 'pissed' have another meaning in America?"

Once again, Bob gave me a funny look before answering, "Uhh, here it means angry or upset about something. What's it mean in Liverpool?"

"Really? When we say we're pissed, it means we're drunk off our rockers!"

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "So how come your accent doesn't sound like the queen? You certainly lack the couth of a queen."

Oh Jesus, don't tell me he just lumped us Brits into the same category as the bloody Queen. That's an unfair stereotype that so many foreigners enjoying making, and sadly, there aren't any scousers around to correct them. It's like saying all Americans—or if you really want to aggravate a poor sod, _yanks_—are loud, rude, arrogant, and a bunch of rednecks. I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest while narrowing my eyes. "Look here, don't make me call you a corksucker! Let's call a truce now, because I'm tired, I've got jet lag, and I'm missing me mates, while you're pissed—both ways!"

Bob shifted slightly and stuck out a skinny hand towards me. "Fine, we'll make some flimsy treaty then. Don't get all upset; after all, that's how you guys lost the war back in the day, don't make the same mistake twice." He must have caught the death glare I was sending him and the fist I had raised and poised to slug him, because he quickly followed it with, "Just joking. Now hurry up and shake this hand here, so we can stop bickering."

I took his hand and shook it briefly before dropping it and resettling my hands back onto my lap. "You know, you speak yer mind like a friend of mine back in The Pool. Though he's in Hamburg now, actually. You're lacking his cheek, though." Recalling something John told me a long time ago about the wit and cheek they'd use during their gigs, I giggled and continued, "Me mate once said, 'If wit were shit, we'd all be constipated!' "

Bob opened his mouth to let out a smart comment when the door swiftly swung open, permitting a tipsy Betty to enter the room. Her face was as red as a cherry, and her hair was frazzled. With a laugh, she pointed out to the front room.

"Phone!" she squeaked out between a couple of giggles. "Some boy with a funny accent like yours. He was looking for... oh, uhmm, what was it again?" She stumbled a bit over her two feet, leaning against the doorway for support. "Oh! Right, he said he was looking for, and now I'm quoting, 'A Peggy Sue Bird.' " By the way she let out a sigh of relief, it seemed as if she was amazed at herself for even forming coherent sentences.

Looking over at Bob, who gestured with a nod of his head to answer the phone, I followed the intoxicated woman through the swarm of drunken guests, Carolyn and Freddie included. She pointed to the phone lying on the kitchen counter. " 'S all yours, honey," she slurred, disappearing back into the crowded front room.

I picked up the phone, thankful that the cord was long and the bathroom wasn't far, and wandered into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me in order to cut down the noise. "Hello?"

"_Christ_, how long does it take fer a bird to answer the bloody phone? I've been waiting here fer...fer... _auggh_, never mind, I'm out of me mind." That distinct, sharp and sarcastic tone could only belong to one scouser.

"Lennon! You have no idea how glad I am to hear your voice, and I haven't even been gone long!"

I heard John chuckle, and if I could see him through the telephone, I was sure that he was wagging his eyebrows suggestively. "Now, now, glad to hear me voice? Imagine how sad Georgie would be to hear that, you naughty bird!"

Of course, leave it to John to twist my words around to fit his strange interpretations. "Oh keep it down, you know what I meant. Though I find it strange you're calling me instead of Paul. Well, how are you lads, anyways?"

There was shouting, chatter, and loud music blaring in the background, so much that I had to pull the phone away from my ear a bit. "Great!" he shouted into the receiver. "We're playing at a club called The Indra. And you know what? I've _never_ seen so many arse bandits in me _life!_ But they're a lively bunch, so what the hell. Paul's even learnin' himself a few stripper tricks!"

I bit back a laugh at his last comment. "He's _what?_ That boy will definitely hear from me once I get a chance to talk to him or write him! What about shows?"

"Oh, we're on a small break now. We'll head back in a couple of hours."

I narrowed my eyes in confusion. A couple of hours? But it had to be already incredibly late there. "Head back where, exactly? And what time is it there?"

John pulled away from the receiver and shouted something to another, but it was so drowned out by all of the other background noise that I could only hear him shout "George" and "find a bloody clock." There was a brief moment of clambering around before he answered, "Hm? Oh, well we're staying behind some theatre—Bambi Kino or sommat like that. Shitty living space, I'll tell ye that! To answer yer other question, George says it's about four thirty-five."

Furrowing my eyebrows, I clarified, "In the evening?"

"Hell no, in the morning!"

Incredulously, I sprang up from my seat on the edge of the bathtub and cried out, "_What?_ Then what the fuck is keeping you lads awake? 'Cause it bloody well can't be alcohol, that's for sure!"

The other end was scratchy for a few seconds, before John said, "Huh? I didn't catch that. Oh—wait, wait, George wants to talk to you. Give us a second."

Once again, my ears had to endure a few other moments of a cacophony of fumbling, shrieks, loud chatter and breaking glass. I grew nervous until the noise died down considerably and I heard that familiar voice that made my heart skip a beat. "Hullo, Peggy Sue, having a ball in the states now, are we?"

"George!" I breathed, grinning from ear to ear, "How are you? I've missed you all terribly, and it hasn't even been that long!"

His soft chuckling seemed to cut through the rest of the noise, sounding like complete bliss to my ears. "I'm all right so far, but I'm dead tired. We've been playing fer _hours_, Peggy! The people here at the club gave us some pills that keep us awake though, probably some uppers. I can't even understand half of the things they tell us, but Paul's managing a couple of flimsy sentences with that dictionary you gave him. Anyways, how's New York and your sister? Oh—here, wait, let me drag this phone here into the loo to hear you better... Okay, go ahead, I can hear you now."

I grinned proudly knowing the dictionary helped somewhat. The noise in the background had died down, indicating that he was probably in a similar position as I was: sitting somewhere in the bathroom trying to hear the other end of the conversation. "John said you'd be getting some rest soon. Just hang in there, okay, Georgie? And so far, I guess New York is all right. Carolyn's roommate is throwing a party here and honestly, it's a bit of a drag. But she's happy with her new lad, so I'm glad for her."

I heard George softly chuckle, and he momentarily began to hum the song "Everyday" by Buddy Holly, one of my favourite songs. It was well known among the boys that Buddy Holly was the musician I loved most, and that I was devastated the day the music died.

"I really miss you, Peggy. And it's only been a day. I just can't seem to get you out of my head—and I don't want to!"

My breath hitched in my throat at his words, and for some reason I found it hard to breathe. I missed him terribly as well—not just him, but everyone else as well. It was just so strange without them around, and despite the blaring music from the party in the apartment, life seemed incredibly quiet and dull. Like George said, it had only been a day!

"I miss you too, Georgie. It's agonizing waiting to see you again. I miss _everyone!_ And I haven't even bee—" There was no surprise that I would get cut off, because that's what always happened whenever I talked to George. But while I was in mid sentence, there was a loud shriek on the other end of the phone, and fumbling sounds muffling the receiver.

George shouted, though away from the phone because his voice sounded so distant, and there was a door slam. I recognized the next voice that spoke very well, "What the bloody _hell!_ She was a man, George, a _man._ With a dangly thing and _bollocks. _I almost thought about shagging a fucking _man._ A bloody well-disguised man, too!"

Clearing my throat, I said loudly into the phone, "I believe the correct term is 'transvestite?' "

Luckily George heard me and said, "Oh, right. Peggy says he's a transvestite."

There was a pause. Suddenly, "Peggy! Give me the telephone, George! I want to talk to Pegs!" Paul must have snatched the phone away from his band mate and shoved him out of the room, because I heard the door open and close, and the only Paul's voice. "Sorry you had to hear that, Pegs. But honestly, I _swear_ I thought he was a woman! The one yesterday thankfully was."

With a grimace, I inquired with every intention of keeping my irritation covered, "Have you forgotten that you've got a girlfriend waiting for you back at home, missing you each and every second you're away?"

He sighed and answered, "Look, it's not the same, we're away on—"

"_No_, it is the same, Paul! Doesn't matter if you're half way across the world, it's still cheating! And it's still _wrong_."

I could feel the tension even across the telephone and across the ocean that divided us; it was evident that Paul wasn't too thrilled about me calling him out on his fault. I knew Paul wasn't the innocent, adorable boy everyone thought he was from a first impression, but I never thought he'd be the one to leave his relationships at home and fool around outside. That's when another scary thought dawned on me: if Paul's capable of this while he's away, then what if George is exactly the same? What if he's unfaithful and only wants to have fun when his girlfriend's back is turned? Not that, uh, I'm his official _girlfriend_ or anything…

My cheeks heated up when I thought of me being his girlfriend; I mean, it wasn't such impossibility, was it? He already asked me on a date and said he liked me, so, wasn't it naturally the next step?

"Peggy," he said at last, "please, whatever you do, just _don't_ tell Dot. Maybe you don't understand—and don't go interrupting me by saying that you really don't, because I'm sure you were just about to do that—and yes, I do know you that well. I know you so well, in fact, that I know you'll ask if George does just the same. So far, I can assure you that he isn't; he hasn't so much as ogled at any bird here, so don't worry about it. He keeps rambling on about how much he misses you and wants you there and such."

But of course, this was my best friend I was talking to here. I closed my mouth, for I had opened it with all the intentions of protesting just as he had predicted, and let his words sink in. Maybe I didn't understand what it was like, and I probably never would. But unless it started hurting more than just a pretty girl, I decided not to interfere.

"Fine, I guess I'll just..._ugh_, I won't tell, all right? Your dirty little secret is safe with me, Paulie."

Paul let out a whoop and laughed excitedly as he replied, "There's a good girl, now! And you think that's dirty? No, _dirty_ is what I was just doing with that str—"

"Okay that doesn't mean I want every detail about your sex affairs!" I cut him off abruptly, pulling the phone away from my ear.

He let out an offended gasp and countered, "Oh don't you scold me on sex affairs, Peggy Mae! Because I bet you've had your own sexual thoughts about our George here!"

Ugh. He actually brought that up. And it's not like I had _told_ Paul about any of these... private thoughts; I just, you know, might have let George's name slip in my sleep once when I spent the night next door. And it's not like it was a dirty dream, either, I've just had dreams before where George and I were a couple. But ugh. Ack! Why did Paul have to bring that up? I knew my cheeks were already pink, but they must have turned flaming red in the past few seconds.

"Paul, don't you have a show to continue in a few minutes?"

"Hm?" He coughed once and went on, "Oh, uh, right. Christ but I'm going barmy on these uppers, it's like I'm all jittery. Yeah, someone's knocking on the door, it's probably John. Listen, I'll call you again soon or sommat, okay? And make sure you look for my letters! Don't be surprised if you get one from John; I saw him writing tons of letters back at our place and they were addressed to random people. Anyways, love you, Peggy Sue!"

With a giggle I said back, "Love you too, you tosser. Play a good show!"

I stood and opened the bathroom door to put the phone back. Imagine my surprise when I saw a thin American teenager standing by the doorway, a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He pulled it away from his lips, nursing it between his index and middle fingers and said, "Now that's not exactly something you see everyday."

Blushing, I replied, "Sorry, Bob. Did you need to use the loo?"

"Why yes, as a matter of fact, I needed to use the _bathroom._"

I shoved him lightly in the arm. "Oh just shurrup, you corksucker and stop correcting my English. After all, we were talking English _way_ before you Americans ever did!" I of course wasn't intentionally being mean; I said everything in a playful tone, and I saw him smirk as he walked in the bathroom and I walked out.

"Sure," he lazily began, "you guys were _speaking_ English way before us, but who invented rock and roll?"

There was a pause.

"You know, I hope you fall in the toilet, corksucker."

"I still don't know what the _fuck_ a corksucker is!"

* * *

_I think calling people corksuckers is attractive. Kidding haha. What did you think? Was it worth the wait? (It's fine if you say no, I feel terrible for making you all wait this long ._.) How did this chapter make you feel? Did it make you grow wings? Or maybe grow gills? Make you laugh? Then please tell me in a review! :)_

_"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."_


	21. 19: Frantic Across The Atlantic

_And then a hand rose from the grave and clawed its way out._

_I'm so sorry I abandoned this story for so long! In all honesty, I had writer's block and sort of lost interest in the story. What brought me back to it was driving home the other day and hearing a George Harrison song on the radio. So here is the next update, and I can't promise a regular update schedule, but I will try my best! When I first started the story, I was a sophomore, and now I'm trying to finish things up for my senior year._

_So, without further ado, I hope you enjoy this next installment!_

_I only own the O'Higgins and any other fictional characters._

_-M_

* * *

"How about that one there?"

"Which one?"

Rolling my eyes, I pointed across the street with my sketchbook in hand and clarified, "_That_ one, the one across the street in the blue sweater."

"Oh. What about her?"

"Christ, pay attention, will you? You asked me to pick out people I thought looked pretty on the damn street, so I'm pointing out some good looking people, here!"

Finally acknowledging the girl on the opposite side of the street, Bob stared at her for only a couple of seconds before making a snorting noise that indicated he was not impressed at all. "Suicide blonde."

I really needed to catch up on this American slang, because Bob would use any sort of American phrase he could just to confuse me. Just to be fair, I would spout out Liverpudlian insults at him. "Now what gobshite saying is that? Cause yer not making sense."

"Suicide blonde," he repeated, " 'dyed by her own hands.' Get it?"

"Put a zipper on it! How the bleedin' hell can you tell she's not a natural blonde?"

"Oh," he said mischievously, a sly grin on his face, "I may have bumped into her once or twice during my visits here to New York and... let's just say the curtains didn't match the carpet."

Ew. He wasn't making my opinion of Americans any better.

With a weary sigh, Bob shoved his hands into his leather jacket pockets and gestured for us to hasten our steps in order to catch up with Betty and Carolyn, who were engaged in deep conversation a few paces ahead of us on the street. The sun was shining down—something England often lacked—and there was a light breeze every now and then that reminded us autumn was approaching.

Bob lightly tapped the dark-haired woman on the should and asked, "Hey Betty, how much longer 'til that apartment?"

Breaking away from her chat with my sister, Betty turned her head to look at the young man beside her. "Hm? Oh, just a few more blocks now. The modeling agency is actually just right here; I'm going to walk Carolyn and Peggy in before we leave."

Amazed at the massive skyscraper towering before me, I tilted my head all the way back just to see the top. Marvelous structures such as the ones found all around New York dazzled me, and I knew I was standing and staring with my mouth agape like a complete loon. Something told me that glorious things were in store in this great concrete jungle.

Of course, who else would ruin my time of admiration than a lousy, sarcastic, shite Midwestern guitarist. "Having fun catching flies, Peggy?"

In an instant, I jerked my elbow back, jabbing him straight in the ribs. A satisfying thud resounded from his body, and I smirked at his reaction. Bob bent over in pain and clutched his chest; it was his turn to form his mouth into an "O" shape. I'm not much of a sadist, but I did have a sudden urge to chuckle when I saw him doubled over. "No, Bob, but I do believe you're making quite the fly catcher."

His voice was slightly winded and rasped as he retorted, "Touché, you crazy damn Brit."

Betty escorted Carolyn and I inside the building, leaving Bob outside to catch his breath. The front desk at the entrance was neat and tidy, with a perky young woman sitting behind it. Her short blonde hair was curled and pinned flat against her head, contrasting with her wide blue eyes and scarlet-painted lips. Her face illuminated like the flip of a switch as soon as she saw Betty and Carolyn. "Good morning, you two! Leonard and Frederick are on the third floor ready for the photo shoot, if you wanted to know!"

Much like an older sister would do, Betty leaned down (mostly because she was just incredibly tall and was like a giant compared to the receptionist) to lay a hand on her should and said sweetly, "Aw, Louise, dear, I can't stick around today; I've taken the day off. But Cary's going to bring in her younger sister here and they'll do the shoot for me. Do call Leo and Fred to tell them they're here."

Louise peeked around Betty's frame to catch a glimpse at me, and her smile widened. "Wonderful, then! Welcome to Bella's Agency for Modeling Futures! Are you going to be a new model here?"

Holding up my sketchbook, I replied, "Oh, no, I'm not much of a looker, really. I just wanted to show some of my designs, maybe become a designer for models."

The receptionist winked as she said, "Come on, now, don't be shy! You'd be great as a model! Why, I've se—"

"_Louise_," Betty cut in, "That call, please. Make sure Barbara knows Peggy's going to show some designs to her today as well."

Louise nearly squeaked as she nodded her head and picked up the phone. She looked back and forth between the filing in front of here and Betty's gaze, offering up a nervous smile.

"Go right on up you two," Betty said as she swiftly turned to us. "I'll take Bob to see a couple apartments, and maybe drop by around noon. You two be good now. And Peggy, when you show those designs to her, make sure you're aggressive about it; don't take no for an answer! She's moody and picky in the morning, but you've just got to appeal to her better side, okay?"

I shot Carolyn a confused look before I asked, "Wait, show _who?_"

Betty giggled. "There's a woman named Barbara Hulanicki from Biba, a rather new fashion company. She's at our agency for a couple of weeks to see potential models and designs to help kick off her company, so this is the perfect opportunity! We've got another young man here planning to be a designer, so he's showing her his own designs."

Having said that, Carolyn and I took the stairs up to the third floor. When we entered the studio where the photo shoot was to be held, I was simply astounded. There were lights and backdrops surrounding the room and illuminating the scene; tall, thin and done-up models sat on one side of the room in chairs getting their hair or make-up fixed, while cameras were set up on tripods on the other side. Frederick and another man approached us on arrival, cameras in hand.

"Carolyn, darling, right on time. Have you got your sketchbook, Peggy?" Freddie said, wrapping his free arm around my sister's waist.

Proudly holding up the battered and frayed sketchbook I nodded and gave him a thumbs-up sign with my other hand. "Right here. Now where's this other designer bloke who's supposed to be here?"

Right on cue, a rather flamboyant young man in a black turtleneck sweater and slim pants marched up to me with his own sketchpad in hand. He wore a large smile on his lips and politely stuck out his hand for me to shake. "Is that a Liverpudlian accent I hear?" he asked in his perfect Queen's English accent.

Eyes widening in amazement, I took his hand and shook it eagerly. "Yes, actually! You're from London, I'd reckon. What's a lad like you doing all the way out in New York?" Oh, what a stupid question, Peggy! He's obviously here to show his designs! I felt mortified at my silly question and hoped he wouldn't think I was an airhead right from the start.

Thankfully, he seemed to understand and replied, "Oh, well I'm going to the Royal College of Art this next school term, but I wanted to see if I could get my designs looked at before then. They call me Ossie; Ossie Clark."

"I'm Peggy O'Higgins," I said, and jerked a thumb towards Freddie and Carolyn. "I'm Carolyn's sister, and Freddie's her lad."

"Charmed," Ossie said as he greeted both of them. "Now, Peggy, maybe we could discuss our designs? Barbara is at the make-up tables and wants to meet both of us."

A nervous tremble took over my arms and legs, but I managed a nod and followed Ossie further back into the studio. Off to the side was a row of dresser tables, with complete sets of make-up trunks and various other cosmetics scattered about. At the back of each table was a rather large mirror with painted flower designs, each a flashy reflection of the young done-up women who sat in front of them.

Ossie led me over to a middle-aged woman in a purple flowing dress, grabbing me by the shoulders and thrusting me in front of the woman. "Good morning, Ms. . I'm Ossie Clark, and this here is Peggy O'Higgins. We were hoping you would take a look at some of our designs, if you could spare a moment."

The woman turned and studied the both of us. The trembles still shook at my hands, but I grasped tightly at my sketchbook to hide it. She smiled lightly and held out her hand to Ossie. "Let's see them, then. Starting with you, then."

She took the black sketchbook from him, flipping through the pages and mumbling, "Hmmm" every now and then. With a nod, she handed the sketchbook back, and turned to me, her expecting hand held out. I quickly put the sketchbook in her hands, trying my best to smile up at her.

Just as she did with Ossie's sketchbook, she reviewed the various designs I had created. Most of the outfits were inspired by my days with the lads back home; from those times John joked about creating ridiculous and sexy clothing, and even from his and Cynthia's contrasting styles of art. Sometimes listening to the boys play music inspired hip and new styles I imagined the kids down at the clubs would wear; other times I designed things I wish I could look good in. Much of it suddenly seemed absurd as I watched her squinting or "hmmm"ing at my sketches.

She handed the sketchpad back to me, surprisingly both Ossie and I with a smile. "Well, I can gladly say I saw a few of yours designs that pleased me. Tell me, have either of you enrolled in art school?"

"I'm attending the Regional College of Art," Ossie piped up.

I sheepishly smiled and replied, "Well, I haven't decided on a college yet. Mum's hoping I can go to school somewhere in London, actually."

"Splendid," Barbara said as she clasped her hands together, "My company is stationed in London. If you please, I'd love it if you both wrote down your phone numbers and addresses. I shall contact you both when I return to England, and we can further discuss business and plans then."

Ossie seemed rather poised and professional about it; I, however, was amazed and apparently incapable of keeping my mouth shut. My mouth opened and closed a few times before I was able to string together a coherent sentence. "Wait... that's it? It's really that simple?"

Both looked at my funnily. "What do you mean?"

"Well," I fidgeted with my sketchbook, "for some reason, I expected this to be difficult. I mean, Christ, I'm in New York! Isn't it supposed to be a one in a million chance of becoming successful here?"

I feared that in my one moment of shock and panic, I had ruined my chances. However, Barbara merely chuckled and placed an arm around my shoulders. "Dear, I must remind you that I am just beginning to lift my company off the ground. I am recruiting designers who do not have the most popular style, but styles and designs that I know will bring us into a new future and age of fashion. That is what I saw in both of your designs. I see potential; and that is a big part in success. No doubt hard work is needed, but if we put all of that together, then yes, I believe you will find success." She craned her neck to look down into my eyes. "But I suspect there is more to this than just being successful?"

The floor was starting to look quite interesting at that moment, and I continued to look down, embarrassed. "I... well, yes. There are a few lads I need to meet at... the topper most of the poppermost," I replied, giggling to myself and John's silly phrase of encouragement. Beneath the giggles, I knew that I wouldn't settle for anything else. I needed this.

::::::::::::::::::::

"So, how was it?"

After Betty and Bob returned from apartment hunting, Betty asked Carolyn to go with her to meet a friend for lunch; that left Bob and I to go

grocery shopping. The two of us were aimlessly walking in the market, and I occasionally pretended to be interested in a vegetable before putting it back.

"Well, she did say she was interested in my designs," I told him blankly, and grabbed a basket.

Bob, who was strutting around with an unlit ciggy clenched between his teeth, replied, "Wait, that's a good thing, right? That sounds like a good thing."

"It is."

"Then why do you sound like she just slapped you across the face with your sketchpad?"

I couldn't suppress the laugh that bubbled up from my throat. "I was almost afraid she would."

"Okay, so she liked your designs, and she didn't slap you. I'm still not following your gloomy mood," Bob said with slight annoyance. He had already picked up a couple of potatoes and was attempting to juggle three of them.

"I'm just thinking. I mean, I want this to be a successful company, and I want my designs to be fresh and popular enough for the entire world to wear. Who _doesn't_? And that's the thing; I don't want it to fail. I can't let meself become a failure at this."

Bob was still trying to get the hang of juggling when he replied matter-of-factly, "A moron could have figured that out. No one wants to fail, Peggy; that's just common sense. But you're still upset over something else."

I gave him a pointed look, and saw that he had even put the potatoes down to give me an expectant stare back.

"It's just that," I took a deep breath, "You remember the group of boys that rang yesterday? The ones I was chatting to in the loo?" Bob nodded. "They're me best friends. Paulie, George, even that git John. Christ, the three of them are my _childhood_. My boys. Paul and I have been through everything together. I know those buggers'll make it big someday. They've practically got charisma shooting out their arses! Those boys are going to the topper most of the poppermost." I paused.

I knew Bob had figured it out. He was already giving me that sly smile. "I see. You know they're going to be famous, and you don't want to get left behind. Huh. Not in it for the glory and fame, then?"

I let out a bitter laugh. "Figured it out then, eh? Yer right. I don't think I could stand it to be left behind. I figured if I could make it up in the world too, I'd still be on somewhat of an equal level with them, not just some tag along childhood friend. They mean the world to me, and... well, I'm bloody scared of losing them."

Bob was silent for a moment. Pouring out some of my deepest feelings to someone I had just met wasn't exactly what I had planned to do, and I wasn't sure if I had said too much.

"You should let them know that."

He picked up the potatoes again, and with a silly grin, said, "Peggy, now look what I can do!" Three potatoes were tossed in the air, and she at first supposed he was juggling; until they landed on the ground with three loud splats.

"Shite! You lousy git, look what you've done!" I laughed. "Get a move on, or else we'll have to pay for those!"

::::::::::::::::::::

"Hullo? 'S a Paul McCartney there?"

A scratchy voice replied from the other end of the line in, "No, I am sorry, but zere is no Paul Macharteney here." The speaker had a heavy German accent, and it was all I could do to prevent from laughing.

"Oh, sorry to bother you then. I'll jus—"

"Vat is ze colour ov your kneeckers?"

I stopped short and furrowed my brows. "I'm sorry?"

"Your kneeckers! Unterhosen! Welche Farbe? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

There was a roar of laughter from the other end of the telephone. The voices sounded familiar, and I found myself chuckling as well. "John, you cheeky sod! Nearly had me blowin' my top off! Asking about me knickers like that; and what about poor Cyn?"

John let out another hoot of laughter. "Couldn't help meself, Peggy Sue! Now, what's this about looking for Paulie?"

Somewhere in the background, I heard Paul say, "Wait, wait, give her here, John! I want to talk to Pegs!"

"Quiet down, son!" John barked back at Paul. There were fidgeting sounds and a few exchanged shouts before John cried, "Fine, fine, you win! Just take the bleedin' phone, then."

I recoiled when I heard a piercing smash, and was so sure they had dropped the phone. But a few seconds later, I could hear Paul's lively, yet tired, voice. "Pegs! Peggy Mae, it literally feels like ages since we spoke. Though I reckon it's only been... what, a day? Sommat like that."

"Paulie, you sound exhausted," I commented, "But it's great to hear yer voice."

That familiar impish laugh filled my ears and made me smile. "Well we've been up for Christ only knows how long playing gigs, and I've only been asleep for three hours or so."

"Tsk tsk. Don't them Krauts ever give you lads a breather?"

"Well, yes, every now and then. Not long enough though, apparently. Anyroad, how's my Peggy Mae doing?"

"Oh, right! Listen, I've got news!"

"News? No corksucker boyfriends, now! Can't go breaking little Georgie's poor heart, can we?"

At the mention of his name, I could hear a faint voice shout, "What's this about me?" from Paul's end of the line.

Chuckling, I continued, "Well, I showed my clothing designs to this woman who is starting her own company called Biba, and she's interested in them. Said she'd contact me with more details when she gets back to London."

"That's fantastic! Knew your designs would catch someone's eye."

Beaming from the other end, I replied, "Yeah, my doodles have finally paid off. How have the shows been so far? The Krauts take a liking to yer music?"

"Well, everyone in the clubs are drunk off their arses, poppin' uppers like candy, but they're dancing and having a good time. They haven't chucked us—yet."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, fully aware that he couldn't see my reaction anyway. "Now yer old man paid good money fer the ticket to Hamburg, don't blow it away with some daft little mistake!"

"Nonsense!" he replied with mock surprise, "What would they ever give us the boot for, Peggy Mae?"

"Two words: John Lennon."

"Touche," he said with a laugh. "It's only a matter of time before the poor bastard ends up in a fight with the owner or ends up shagging the wrong bird. Or man. Birdman? I'm honestly confused with all of them bleedin' trannies swarming the clubs. I'm just sweatin' that I'll meet a nice looking bird and find dangly bits where her bellydingle's supposed to be!"

A snort of laughter found its way out of my throat. "Still the same Paulie, so far." I fell silent for a moment. Nervous, I chewed on my bottom lip for a few seconds, debating on whether or not to bring up the next issue. "You lads are all going to change by the time Hamburg's done with you."

"What do you mean? Sure, we'll get experience and maybe a bit more fame, but we'll still be the same. A scouser's a scouser, no matter what."

I chuckled. "I know. Things will change when we all return home. I'm not going to let you boys have all the fun on your trip away! I'll come back a changed young woman.

"Oh, Pegs, don't do that," Paul protested. "If you really think everything's going to change, I don't see the point on changing yerself. I want the same Peggy Mae to come home to."

As always, my best friend knew just how to touch my heart. I didn't want any of us to change; yet I knew we had to in order to get closer to what we wanted out of life. So I told him, "I'll make sure that when we all get back, we'll be even better than before. Our lives will turn around, ye hear?"

"Oh, I know they will," he responded with mirth in his voice, "And when we make it to the top, you can be our stylist or designer, or whiche—"

"The toppermost of the poppermost!" I heard John screech like a banshee in the background.

I erupted into laughter and said, "Yes, yes, because I'll make it big too on my own, and then you lads will just _have_ to have me around! Can't have Teds dressed like shite at the toppermost of the poppermost, can we?"

Paul joined in on my laughter, and for a moment, it felt as if we weren't thousands of miles apart. I could feel him right there with me, doubled over in silly laughter over a silly matter. Feeling that same deep connection even across the Atlantic lifted my spirits; my heart soared even more when he said, "It's a deal then!"

* * *

_How did you like it? It is a little difficult having to write phone conversations all of the time, and I'm toying with the idea of writing about the lads in Hamburg for a bit. We shall see ;) I'm not too sure if this update was exactly worth the year wait, but please tell me what you think anyway!_

_And once again, I'm so sorry to all of you. I know I received messages and reviews asking me to update, and I apologize that it had to take this long! I shall let you slap me about the face with a wet fish._

_"What was it that first attracted you to me?"_


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